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FURTHER   EXPERIENCES   OF   AN 
IRISH  R.M. 


OLD    FLYNN,    MOVING   ALONG   THE   VERGE,    BECAME   IDYLLIC 


-222(9- 
Further  Experiences  of  an 

Irish  R.M. 


By 

E.  CE.  Somerville  and  Martin  Ross 

Authors    of   "Some    Experiences    of    an    Irish    R.M.," 

"Some  Irish  Yesterdays,"  "All  on  the  Irish  Shore," 

"The  Real  Charlotte,"  etc.  etc.  etc. 

/ 


With  35  Illustrations  by  E.  CE.  Somerville 


Longmans,   Green,  and  Co. 
39   Paternoster  Row,  London 

New  York,  Bombay,  and  Calcutta 
1908 


All  rights  reserved 


BY   THE  SAME  AUTHORS 

SOME   EXPERIENCES  OF  AN  IRISH   R.M. 

With  31  Illustrations  by  E.  CE.  Somerville. 

Crown  8vo,  6s. 

SOME  IRISH  YESTERDAYS 

With  51  Illustrations  by  E.  CE.  Somerville. 
Crown  8vo,  6s. 

AN  IRISH  COUSIN 
Crown  8vo,  6s. 

THE  REAL  CHARLOTTE 

Crown  8vo,  3s.  6d. 

THE   SILVER   FOX 
Crown  8vo,  3s.  6d. 

ALL  ON  THE  IRISH  SHORE 

With  10  Illustrations  by  E.  CE.  Somerville. 

Crown  8vo,  6s. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  AND  CO. 

LONDON,  NEW  YORK,  BOMBAY,  AND  CALCUTTA 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.  THE  PUG-NOSED  FOX i 

II.  A  ROYAL  COMMAND 33 

III.  POISSON  D'AVRIL 56 

IV.  "THE  MAN  THAT  CAME  TO  BUY  APPLES"         .  77 
V.  A  CONSPIRACY  OF  SILENCE 103 

VI.  THE  BOAT'S  SHARE 138 

VII.  THE  LAST  DAY  OF  SHRAFT 167 

VIII.  "  A  HORSE  !    A  HORSE  !"  (Part  I.)  .        .        .        .195 

IX.  "AHORSE!    A  HORSE!"  (Part  II.)        .        .        .214 

X.  SHARPER  THAN  A  FERRET'S  TOOTH    .        .        .232 

XI.  OWENEEN  THE  SPRAT 255 

XII.  THE  WHITEBOYS 285 


LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


HALF-TONE 

Old  Flynn,  moving  along  the  verge,  became  idyllic 
Suspicious  of  an  ill-timed  pleasantry 

"  Take  me  out  of  this  " 

Whizzed  like  a  driven  grouse  past  the  combatants  . 
The  guard  put  his  hand  over  his  mouth  . 
"  And  not  a  brown  farthing  more  would  he  give  "  . 
"  Pm  dashed  if  she  hasn't  got  Sullivan's  pony  " 
He  crowned  the  arrangement  with  the  bottle  of 

potheen 

A  tray ful  of  burning  sods  of  turf    .... 
He  did  not  deny  himself  a  most  dissolute  wink 
Maria's  performance  was  faultless .... 
The  Modulator  opened  with  a  long-drawn  and 

nasal  cadenza 

"  Did ye  see  the  police  V 

"Is  that  my  darlin'  Major  Yeatest"  shouted  the 

cook 

"  /  will  walk — /  should  really  prefer  it" 

Flurry  and  I  put  in  a  blazing  September  day  on 

the  mountain 

Brane^s  Lake 

An  intricate  and  variously  moving  tide  of  people    . 
"  Them  hounds  are  in  my  family,  seed  and  breed, 

this  hundred  years" „  292 

"Til  go  bail  'twas  him  that  picked  me  wife's 

fashionable  cocks" „  302 

vii 


Frontispiece 

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258 

List  of  Illustrations 
IN  THE  TEXT 


PAGE 


The  egregious  Slipper 35 

The  victim  came      .        .        . 71 

"  Ye  have  them  in  great  form,  Michael" .        .        .  .     106 

Pure  ecstasy  stretched  his  grin  from  ear  to  ear  .  .  .123 
"  They  re  lovely  fish  altogether/  they're  leppin'  fresh/"  .        .     141 

The  invalid  removed  herself .        .148 

Con  Brickley 158 

" Let  the  divil  clear  me'out  of  the  sthrand '! '"  ....     160 

A  witness  to  be  proud  of 161 

His  mornings  were  spent  in  proffering  Irish  phrases  .  .169 
The  Sergeant's  manner  was  distressingly  apologetic  .  .192 
"  That's  a  great  sign  of  fine  weather  when  a  horse  will  lie 

down  in  wather  that  way" 230 

My  wife  came  and  asked  me  if  I  would  take  her  to  the  work- 
house          256 

"  Thim's  no  joke,  sir,  thim's  Sprats!" 275 

"  He  knows  what's  what !  "  said  the  Locum   ....    283 


Vlll 


FURTHER    EXPERIENCES    OF 
AN    IRISH    R.M. 

I 

THE    PUG-NOSED    FOX 

"  5  Turkies  and  their  Mother 
5  Ducks  and  the  Drake 
5  Hins  and  the  Cock 

Catharine  O'Donovan,  Skeagh." 

A  leaf  from  a  copy-book,  with  these  words 
written  on  it,  was  placed  in  my  hand  as  I  was 
in  the  act  of  dragging  on  a  new  pair  of  gloves 
in  the  stableyard.  There  was  something  rhythmic 
in  the  category,  suggestive  of  burnt-offerings  and 
incantations ;  some  touch  of  pathos,  pointing  to 
tragedy ;  something,  finally,  that  in  the  light  of 
previous  events  recalled  to  me  suddenly  and  un- 
pleasantly my  new-born  position  of  Deputy 
M.F.H. 

Not,  indeed,  that  I  was  in  need  at  that  moment 

i  a 


Further    'Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

of  circumstances  to  remind  me  of  it.  A  new 
hunting-cap,  pressing  implacably  upon  my  fore- 
head, an  equally  new  red  coat,  heavy  as  a  coat 
of  mail,  a  glittering  horn,  red  hot  from  the 
makers,  and  so  far  totally  unresponsive  to  my 
apoplectic  wooings  ;  these  things  in  themselves, 
without  the  addition  of  a  poultry  bill,  were  suffi- 
cient to  bring  home,  to  me  my  amazing  folly  in 
having  succumbed  to  the  wiles  of  Mr.  Florence 
McCarthy  Knox,  and  accepted  the  charge  of  his 
hounds,  during  his  absence  with  the  Irish  Yeo- 
manry at  the  South  African  war. 

I  had  yielded  in  a  burst  of  patriotic  emotion  to 
the  spirit  of  volunteering  that  was  in  the  air.  It 
would  be,  Flurry  had  assured  me,  a  purely  nominal 
position. 

"  They'll  only  go  out  one  day  a  week,  and 
Jerome  Hickey  and  Michael'll  do  all  the  work. 
I  do  secretary  for  myself,  but  that'll  be  no  trouble 
to  you.  There's  nothing  at  all  to  do  but  to  send 
out  the  cards  of  the  meets.  It'll  be  a  comfort  to 
me  to  think  you  were  running  the  show." 

I  suggested  other  names  that  seemed  to  me 
infinitely  more  comfortable,  but  found  them 
blocked  by  intricate  and  insuperable  objections, 
and  when  I  became  aware  that  Mr.  Knox  had 
so  engineered  his  case  as  to  get  my  wife  on  his 
side  it  seemed  simpler  to  give  in. 

2 


The  Pug-nosed  Fox 

A  week  afterwards  I  saw  Flurry  off  at  the 
station.     His  last  words  to  me  were : 

"Well,  good-bye,  Major.  Be  fighting  my  grand- 
mother for  her  subscription,  and  whatever  you  do, 
don't  give  more  than  half-a-crown  for  a  donkey. 
There's  no  meat  on  them." 

Upon  this  touching  farewell  the  train  steamed 
out,  and  left  me  standing,  shelterless,  a  reluctant 
and  incapable  Master  of  Hounds. 

Exhaustive  as  Flurry's  instructions  had  been 
on  the  subject  of  the  cuisine  and  other  details  of 
kennel  management,  he  had  not  even  hinted  at 
the  difficulties  that  are  usually  composed  by 
means  of  a  fowl  fund.  My  first  experience  of 
these  had  taken  place  but  a  week  ago,  when  from 
the  breakfast-table  I  had  perceived  a  donkey  and 
cart  rambling,  unattended,  in  the  shrubberies, 
among  the  young  hydrangeas  and  azaleas.  The 
owner,  a  most  respectable  looking  old  man,  ex- 
plained that  he  had  left  it  there  because  he  was 
"  dilicate  "  to  bring  it  up  to  the  house,  and  added 
that  he  had  come  for  compensation  for  "  a  beautiful 
milking  goat"  that  the  hounds  had  eaten  last 
March,  "  and  she  having  two  kids  that  died  afther 
her." 

I  asked  why  he  had  not  long  since  been  to 
Mr.  Knox  about  it,  and  was  favoured  with  an 
interminable  history  of  the  claimant's  ill-health 

3 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  I^M. 

during  the  summer,  consequent  on  his  fretting 
after  the  goat ;  of  how  he  had  been  anointed  four 
times,  and  of  how  the  donkey  was  lame  this  long 
while  where  a  branch  bet  her  in  the  thigh  one 
day  she  ran  into  the  wood  from  the  hounds. 
Fearing  that  the  donkey  was  about  to  be  in- 
cluded in  the  bill,  I  made  haste  to  settle  for 
the  goat  and  her  offspring,  a  matter  of  fifteen 
shillings. 

Next  day  two  women  took  up  a  position  on 
the  steps  at  luncheon  time,  a  course  which 
experience  has  taught  me  indicates  affairs  too 
exalted  and  too  personal  to  be  transmitted  via 
the  kitchen.  They  were,  according  to  their  own 
showing,  ruined  proprietors  of  poultry  yards,  in 
proof  of  which  they  pointed  to  a  row  of  decapi- 
tated hens,  laid  forth  on  the  grass  like  the  bag 
at  a  fashionable  shoot.  I  was  irritably  aware  of 
their  triumph  in  the  trophy. 

"  Sure  he  didn't  make  off  with  anny  of  them 
only  three,  but  he  snapped  the  heads  off  all  that 
was  in  it,  and  faith,  if  Masther  Flurry  was  at 
home,  he'd  give  us  the  blood  of  his  arm  before 
he'd  see  our  little  hins  desthroyed  on  us  this 
way." 

I  gave  them  thirty-two  and  sixpence  as  an 
alternative  compensation,  not,  I  admit,  without 
an  uneasy  sense  of  something  unusual  in  Peter 

4 


The  Pug-nosed  Fox 

Cadogan's  expression,  as  he  assiduously  raked 
the  gravel  hard  by. 

It  was  Michael  Leary,  Flurry's  Michael,  who 
placed  the  matter  of  a  fowl  fund  upon  a  basis. 
Catharine  O' Donovan  and  her  list  of  casualties 
had  been  dismissed  at  a  cost  of  ten  shillings,  a 
price  so  inadequate,  and  so  cheerfully  accepted, 
as  to  confirm  my  dawning  suspicions. 

"  Is  it  what  would  they  get  from  Mr.  Flurry  ?" 
replied  Michael  when  I  put  the  matter  to  him ; 
"it  isn't  ten  shillings,  no,  nor  thirty-two  shillings 
that  they'd  get  from  him,  but  a  pelt  of  a  curse 
after  their  heels !  Why  wouldn't  they  keep  their 
hens  inside  in  the  house  with  themselves  at 
night,  the  same  as  annyone  that'd  have  sense, 
and  not  to  leave  them  out  enticing  the  fox  this 
way. 

Michael  was  in  a  bad  temper,  and  so,  for  the 
matter  of  that,  was  I,  quite  irrespective  of  deal- 
ings in  poultry.  Our  red  coats,  our  horses,  and 
the  presence  of  the  hounds,  did  not  betoken  the 
chase,  they  merely  indicated  that  the  Hunt  was 
about  to  be  photographed.  The  local  photog- 
rapher, backed  by  Mrs.  Sinclair  Yeates,  had 
extorted  from  me  the  privilege  of  "  a  sitting," 
a  figurative  expression,  involving  a  ride  of  five 
miles  to  a  covert,  selected  by  my  wife  as  being 
typical  of  the  country,  accompanied  by  the  four- 

5 


Further   'Experiences  of  an  Irish  1{.M. 

teen  and  a-half  couple  of  half-bred  harriers  who 
figured  in  Hound  Lists  as  "  Mr.  Knox's  Fox- 
hounds." 

It  was  a  blazing  day  in  late  August,  following 
on  forty-eight  hours  of  blanketing  sea-fog ;  a 
day  for  flannels  and  a  languid  game  of  croquet. 
Lady  Jane,  the  grey  mare  lent  to  me  by  Flurry, 
had  been  demoralised  by  her  summer  at  grass, 
and  was  in  that  peculiarly  loathsome  frame  of 
mind  that  is  a  blend  of  laziness  and  bumptious- 
ness. If  I  left  her  to  her  own  devices  she 
drowsed,  stumbling,  through  the  dust ;  if  I  cor- 
rected her,  she  pranced  and  pulled,  and  kicked 
up  behind  like  a  donkey.  My  huntsman,  Doctor 
Jerome  Hickey,  who  was  to  have  been  in  the 
forefront  of  the  photograph,  was  twenty  miles 
off  in  an  open  boat,  on  his  way  to  an  island  at 
the  far  end  of  his  dispensary  district,  with  fifteen 
cases  of  measles  ahead  of  him.  I  envied  him ; 
measles  or  no,  he  had  on  a  turned  down  collar. 
As  a  result  of  his  absence  I  rode  in  solitary 
dignity  at  the  head  of  the  pack,  or,  to  speak 
more  correctly,  I  preceded  Michael  by  some 
thirty  yards  of  unoccupied  road,  while  the  pack, 
callous  to  flogging,  and  disdainful  of  my  cajo- 
leries, clave  to  the  heels  of  Michael's  horse. 

In  this  order  we  arrived  at  the  tryst,  a  heathery 
hill  side,  flanked  by  a  dense  and  rambling  wood. 

6 


The  Pug-nosed  Fox 

A  sea-gull  scream  from  the  hill-side  announced 
the  presence  of  my  wife,  and  summoned  me  to 
join  her  and  the  photographer  at  the  spot  where 
they  were  encamped.  I  put  the  mare  at  a  suit- 
able place  in  the  wall  by  the  roadside.  She 
refused  it,  which  was  no  more  than  I  had  ex- 
pected. I  sampled  my  new  spurs  on  her  fat 
sides,  with  the  result  that  she  charged  the  wall, 
slantways,  at  the  exact  spot  where  Philippa  had 
placed  her  bicycle  against  it,  missed  the  bicycle 
by  a  hair's-breadth,  landed  in  the  field  with  a 
thump,  on  all  four  feet,  and  ended  with  two 
most  distressing  bucks.  It  was  a  consolation  to 
me,  when  I  came  in  touch  again  with  the  saddle, 
to  find  that  one  of  the  new  spurs  had  ploughed 
a  long  furrow  in  her  shoulder. 

The  photographer  was  a  young  man  from 
Belfast,  a  new  comer  to  the  neighbourhood ; 
Philippa  is  also  a  photographer,  a  fact  that  did 
not  tend  as  much  as  might  have  been  expected 
to  the  harmony  of  the  occasion. 

"  Mrs.  Yeates  has  selected  this  hillock,"  said 
Mr.  McOstrich,  in  tones  of  acrid  resignation, 
indicating  as  he  spoke  a  sugar-loaf  shaped  knoll, 
thickly  matted  with  furze  and  heather.  "  She 
considers  the  background  characteristic.  My 
own  suggestion  would  have  been  the  grass-field 
yonder." 

7 


Further    "Experiences  of  an  Irish  I^M. 

It  is  an  ancient  contention  of  my  wife  that 
I,  in  common  with  all  other  men,  in  any  dispute 
between  a  female  relative  and  a  tradesman,  side 
with  the  tradesman,  partly  from  fear,  partly  from 
masculine  clannishness,  and  most  of  all  from  a 
desire  to  stand  well  with  the  tradesman.  Nothing 
but  the  remembrance  of  this  preposterous  re- 
proach kept  me  from  accepting  Mr.  McOstrich's 
point  of  view,  and,  while  I  hesitated,  Michael 
was  already  taking  up  his  position  on  the  hillock, 
perhaps  in  obedience  to  some  signal  from  Philippa, 
perhaps  because  he  had  realised  the  excellent 
concealment  afforded  by  the  deep  heather  to  his 
horse's  fetlocks,  whose  outline  was  of  a  some- 
what gouty  type.  It  was  part  of  Flurry  Knox's 
demoniac  gift  for  horseflesh  that  he  should  be 
able  to  buy  screws  and  make  them  serve  his 
exacting  purposes.  Michael's  horse,  Moses,  had, 
at  a  distance,  the  appearance  of  standing  upon 
four  champagne  bottles,  but  he  none  the  less  did 
the  work  of  two  sound  horses  and  did  it  well. 

I  goaded  Lady  Jane  through  the  furze,  and 
established  myself  beside  Michael  on  the  sugar- 
loaf,  the  hounds  disposed  themselves  in  an  inter- 
val of  bracken  below,  and  Mr.  McOstrich  directed 
his  camera  upon  us  from  an  opposite  slope. 

"  Show  your  teeth,  please,"  said  Mr.  McOstrich 
to    Michael.      Michael,  already  simmering   with 

8 


SUSPICIOUS   OF   AN    ILL-TIMED    PLEASANTRY 


The  Pug-nosed  Fox 

indignation  at  the  senseless  frivolity  of  the  pro- 
ceedings, glowered  at  his  knuckles,  evidently 
suspicious  of  an  ill-timed  pleasantry. 

"  Do  you  hear,  Whip? "repeated  Mr.  McOstrich, 
raising  his  bleak  northern  voice,  "show  your 
teeth,  please!" 

"He  only  wants  to  focus  us,"  said  I,  foreseeing 
trouble,  and  hurriedly  displaying  my  own  new 
front  row  in  a  galvanic  smile. 

Michael  murmured  to  Moses'  withers  some- 
thing that  sounded  like  a  promise  to  hocus  Mr. 
McOstrich  when  occasion  should  serve,  and  I 
reflected  on  the  hardship  of  having  to  feel 
apologetic  towards  both  Michael  and  the  photog- 
rapher. 

Only  those  who  have  participated  in  "  Hunt 
Groups"  can  realise  the  combined  tediousness 
and  tension  of  the  moments  that  followed.  To 
keep  thirty  hounds  headed  for  the  camera,  to 
ensure  that  your  horse  has  not  closed  its  eyes 
and  hung  its  head  in  a  doze  of  boredom,  to  pre- 
serve for  yourself  that  alert  and  workmanlike 
aspect  that  becomes  a  sportsman,  and  then,  when 
these  things  have  been  achieved  and  maintained 
for  what  feels  like  a  month,  to  see  the  tripod 
move  in  spider  strides  to  a  fresh  position  and 
know  that  all  has  to  be  begun  over  again.  After 
several  of  these  tentative  selections  of  a  site,  the 

9 


Further   "Experiences  of  an  Irish  CB^M. 

moment  came  when  Mr.  McOstrich  swung  his 
black  velvet  pall  in  the  air  and  buried  his  head 
under  its  portentous  folds.  The  hounds>  though 
uneasy,  had  hitherto  been  comparatively  calm,  but 
at  this  manifestation  their  nerve  broke,  and  they 
unanimously  charged  the  glaring  monster  in  the 
black  hood  with  loud  and  hysterical  cries. 

Had  not  Michael  perceived  their  intention 
while  there  was  time  awful  things  might  have 
happened.  As  it  was,  the  leaders  were  flogged 
off  with  ignominy,  and  the  ruffled  artist  returned 
from  the  rock  to  which  he  had  fled.  Michael 
and  I  arranged  ourselves  afresh  upon  the  hillock ; 
I  squared  my  shoulders,  and  felt  my  wonted  photo- 
graphic expression  of  hang-dog  desperation  settle 
down  upon  me. 

"  The  dogs  are  not  in  the  picture,  Whip ! "  said 
Mr.  McOstrich  in  the  chill  tone  of  outraged 
dignity. 

I  perceived  that  the  hounds,  much  demoralised, 
had  melted  away  from  the  slope  in  front  of  us, 
and  were  huddling  in  a  wisp  in  the  intervening 
hollow.  Blandishments  were  of  no  avail ;  they 
wagged  and  beamed  apologetically,  but  remained 
in  the  hollow.  Michael,  in  whose  sensitive  bosom 
the  term  "  Whip "  evidently  rankled,  became 
scarlet  in  the  face  and  avalanched  from  the  hill 
top  upon  his  flock  with  a  fury  that  was  instantly 

10 


The  Pug-nosed  Fox 

recognised  by  them.  They  broke  in  panic,  and 
the  astute  and  elderly  Venus,  followed  by  two 
of  the  young  entry,  bolted  for  the  road.  They 
were  there  met  by  Mr.  McOstrich's  carman,  who 
most  creditably  headed  the  puppies  with  yells 
and  his  driving-whip,  but  was  out-played  by 
Venus,  who,  dodging  like  a  football  professional, 
doubled  under  the  car  horse,  and  fled  irrevocably. 
Philippa,  who  had  been  flitting  from  rock  to  rock 
with  her  kodak,  and  unnerving  me  with  injunc- 
tions as  to  the  angle  of  my  cap,  here  entered  the 
lists  with  a  packet  of  sandwiches,  with  which,  in 
spite  of  the  mustard,  she  restored  a  certain  con- 
fidence to  the  agitated  pack,  a  proceeding  observed 
from  afar  with  trembling  indignation  by  Minx,  her 
fox-terrier.  By  reckless  expenditure  of  sandwich 
the  hounds  were  tempted  to  their  proper  position 
below  the  horses,  but,  unfortunately,  with  their 
sterns  to  the  camera,  and  their  eyes  fastened  on 
Philippa. 

"  Retire,  Madam ! "  said  Mr.  McOstrich,  very 
severely,  "/  will  attract  the  dogs  ! " 

Thus  rebuked,  Madam  scrambled  hastily  over 
the  crest  of  the  hillock  and  sank  in  unseemly 
laughter  into  the  deep  heather  behind  it. 

"  Now,  very  quiet,  please,"  continued  Mr. 
McOstrich,  and  then  unexpectedly  uttered  the 
words,  "  Pop  1  Pop !  Pop !"  in  a  high  soprano. 

ii 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

Michael  clapped  his  hand  over  his  mouth,  the 
superseded  siren  in  the  heather  behind  me 
wallowed  in  fresh  convulsions  ;  the  hounds  re- 
mained unattracted. 

Then  arose,  almost  at  the  same  moment,  a 
voice  from  the  wood  behind  us,  the  voice  of  yet 
a  third  siren,  more  potent  than  that  of  either  of 
her  predecessors,  th-e  voice  of  Venus  hunting  a 
line.  For  the  space  of  a  breath  the  hounds  hung 
on  the  eager  hacking  yelps,  in  the  next  breath 
they  were  gone. 

Matters  now  began  to  move  on  a  serious  scale, 
and  with  a  speed  that  could  not  have  been  fore- 
seen. The  wood  was  but  fifty  yards  from  our 
sugar-loaf.  Before  Michael  had  got  out  his  horn, 
the  hounds  were  over  the  wall,  before  the  last 
stern  had  disappeared  the  leaders  had  broken 
into  full  cry. 

"  Please  God  it  might  be  a  rabbit ! "  exclaimed 
Michael,  putting  spurs  to  his  horse  and  bucketing 
down  through  the  furze  towards  the  wood,  with 
blasts  of  the  horn  that  were  fraught  with  in- 
dignation and  rebuke. 

An  instant  later,  from  my  point  of  vantage  on 
the  sugar-loaf,  I  saw  a  big  and  very  yellow  fox 
cross  an  open  space  of  heather  high  up  on  the 
hill  above  the  covert.  He  passed  and  vanished ; 
in  half-a-dozen  seconds  Venus,  plunging  through 

12 


The  Pug-nosed  Fox 

the  heather,  came  shrieking  across  the  open  space 
and  also  vanished.  Another  all  too  brief  an 
interval,  and  the  remainder  of  the  pack  had 
stormed  through  the  wood  and  were  away  in 
the  open  after  Venus,  and  Michael,  who  had 
pulled  up  short  on  the  hither  side  of  the  covert 
wall,  had  started  up  the  open  hill  side  to  catch 
them. 

The  characteristic  background  chosen  by 
Philippa,  however  admirable  in  a  photograph, 
afforded  one  of  the  most  diabolic  rides  of  my 
experience.  Uphill,  over  courses  of  rock  masked 
in  furze  bushes,  round  the  head  of  a  boggy  lake, 
uphill  again  through  deep  and  purple  heather, 
over  a  horrid  wall  of  long  slabs  half  buried  in  it ; 
past  a  ruined  cabin,  with  thorn  bushes  crowding 
low  over  the  only  feasible  place  in  the  bank,  and 
at  last,  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  Michael  pulling  up 
to  take  observations. 

The  best  pack  in  the  kingdom,  schoolmastered 
by  a  regiment  of  whips,  could  not  have  precipi- 
tated themselves  out  of  covert  with  more  academic 
precision  than  had  been  shown  by  Flurry  Knox's 
irregulars.  They  had  already  crossed  the  valley 
below  us,  and  were  running  up  a  long  hill  as  if 
under  the  conventional  tablecloth ;  their  cry, 
floating  up  to  us,  held  all  the  immemorial  romance 
of  the  chase. 

*3 


Further   "Experiences  of  an  Irish  QM. 

Michael  regarded  me  with  a  wild  eye;  he 
looked  as  hot  as  I  felt,  which  was  saying  a  good 
deal,  and  both  horses  were  puffing. 

"  He's  all  the  ways  for  Temple  Braney ! "  he 
said.  "  Sure  I  know  him  well — that's  the  pug- 
nosed  fox  that's  in  it  these  last  three  seasons, 
and  it's  what  I  wish " 

(I  regret  that  I.  cannot  transcribe  Michael's 
wish  in  its  own  terms,  but  I  may  baldly  sum- 
marise it  as  a  desire  minutely  and  anatomically 
specified  that  the  hounds  were  eating  Mr. 
McOstrich.) 

Here  the  spurs  were  once  more  applied  to 
Moses'  reeking  sides,  and  we  started  again, 
battering  down  the  twists  of  a  rocky  lane  into 
the  steaming,  stuffy  valley.  I  felt  as  guilty 
and  as  responsible  for  the  whole  affair  as  Michael 
intended  that  I  should  feel ;  I  knew  that  he  even 
laid  to  my  charge  the  disastrous  appearance  of 
the  pug-nosed  Temple  Braney  fox.  (Whether 
this  remarkable  feature  was  a  freak  of  nature, 
or  of  Michael's  lurid  fancy,  I  have  never  been 
able  to  ascertain.) 

The  valley  was  boggy,  as  well  as  hot,  and 
the  deep  and  sinuous  ditch  that  by  courtesy  was 
supposed  to  drain  it,  was  blind  with  rushes 
and  tall  fronds  of  Osmunda  Regalis  fern.  Where 
the   landing   was   tolerable,    the   take-off  was  a 

M 


The  Pug-nosed  Fox 

swamp,  where  the  take-off  was  sound  the  land- 
ing was  feasible  only  for  a  frog :  we  lost  five 
panting  minutes,  closely  attended  by  horse-flies, 
before  we  somehow  floundered  across  and  began 
the  ascent  of  the  second  hill.  To  face  tall  banks, 
uphill,  is  at  no  time  agreeable,  especially  when 
they  are  enveloped  in  a  jungle  of  briars,  bracken, 
and  waving  grass,  but  a  merciful  dispensation 
of  cow-gaps  revealed  itself;  it  was  one  of  the 
few  streaks  of  luck  in  a  day  not  conspicuous 
for  such. 

At  the  top  of  the  hill  we  took  another  pull. 
This  afforded  to  us  a  fine  view  of  the  Atlantic, 
also  of  the  surrounding  country  and  all  that  was 
therein,  with,  however,  the  single  unfortunate 
exception  of  the  hounds.  There  was  nothing 
to  be  heard  save  the  summery  rattle  of  a  reaping- 
machine,  the  strong  and  steady  rasp  of  a  corn- 
crake, and  the  growl  of  a  big  steamer  from  a 
band  of  fog  that  was  advancing,  ghostlike,  along 
the  blue  floor  of  the  sea.  Two  fields  away  a 
man  in  a  straw  hat  was  slowly  combing  down 
the  flanks  of  a  haycock  with  a  wooden  rake, 
while  a  black  and  white  cur  slept  in  the  young 
after-grass  beside  him.  We  broke  into  their 
sylvan  tranquillity  with  a  heated  demand  whether 
the  hounds  had  passed  that  way.  Shrill  clamour 
from   the  dog   was  at  first  the  only  reply ;    its 

15 


Further   'Experiences  of  an  Irish  CRCM. 

owner  took  off  his  hat,  wiped  his  forehead  with 
his  sleeve,  and  stared  at  us. 

"I'm  as  deaf  as  a  beetle  this  three  weeks," 
he  said,  continuing  to  look  us  up  and  down  in 
a  way  that  made  me  realise,  if  possible,  more 
than  before,  the  absurdity  of  looking  like  a 
Christmas  card  in  the  heat  of  a  summer's  day. 

"  Did  ye  see  the  Hounds  ?  "  shouted  Michael, 
shoving  the  chestnut  up  beside  him. 

"It's  the  neurology  I  got,"  continued  the 
haymaker,  "an'  the  pain  does  be  whistlin' 
out  through  me  ear  till  I  could  mostly  run  into 
the  say  from  it." 

"It's  a  pity  ye  wouldn't,"  said  Michael,  whir- 
ling Moses  round,  "  an'  stop  in  it !  Whisht ! 
Look  over,  sir !     Look  over ! " 

He  pointed  with  his  whip  along  the  green 
slopes.  I  saw,  about  half  a  mile  away,  two 
boys  standing  on  a  fence,  and  beyond  them 
some  cattle  galloping  in  a  field  :  three  or  four 
miles  farther  on  the  woods  of  Temple  Braney 
were  a  purple  smear  in  the  hazy  heat  of  the 
landscape.  My  heart  sank ;  it  was  obvious 
even  to  my  limited  capacities  that  the  pug- 
nosed  fox  was  making  good  his  line  with  a 
straightness  not  to  be  expected  from  one  of  his 
personal  peculiarity,  and  that  the  hounds  were  still 
running  as  hard  as  ever  on  a  scent  as  steam- 

16 


The  Pug-nosed -Fox 

ingly  hot  as  the  weather.  I  wildly  thought  of 
removing  my  coat  and  leaving  it  in  charge  of  the 
man  with  neuralgia,  but  was  restrained  by  the 
reflection  that  he  might  look  upon  it  as  a  gift, 
flung  to  him  in  a  burst  of  compassion,  a  mis- 
understanding that,  in  view  of  his  affliction,  it 
would  be  impossible  to  rectify. 

I  picked  up  my  lathered  reins  and  followed 
Michael  at  a  gloomy  trot  in  the  direction  of 
the  galloping  cattle.  After  a  few  fields  a  road 
presented  itself,  and  was  eagerly  accepted  by 
the  grey  mare,  on  whom  the  unbridled  gluttonies 
of  a  summer's  grass  were  beginning  to  tell. 

"  She's  bet  up,  sir,"  said  Michael,  dragging 
down  a  rickety  gate  with  the  handle  of  his 
whip.  "  Folly  on  the  road,  there's  a  near  way 
to  the  wood  from  the  cross." 

Moses  here  walked  cautiously  over  the  pros- 
trate gate. 

II  I'm  afraid  you'll  kill  Moses,"  said  I,  by  no 
means  pleased  at  the  prospect  of  being  separated 
from  my  Intelligence  Department. 

"Is  it  him?"  replied  Michael,  scanning  the 
country  ahead  of  him  with  hawk  eyes.  "  Sure 
he's  as  hardy  as  a  throut ! " 

The  last  I  saw  of  the  trout  was  his  bottle 
fetlocks  disappearing  nimbly  in  bracken  as  he 
dropped  down  the  far  side  of  a  bank. 

17  B 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

I  "  follied  on  the  road  "  for  two  stifling  miles. 
The  heavy  air  was  pent  between  high  hedges 
hung  with  wisps  of  hay  from  passing  carts  ;  (hay- 
carrying  in  the  south-west  of  Ireland  conforms  to 
the  leisure  of  the  farmer  rather  than  to  the  acci- 
dent of  season ;)  phalanxes  of  flies  arose  as  if  at 
the  approach  of  royalty,  and  accompanied  my 
progress  at  a  hunting  jog,  which,  as  interpreted 
by  Lady  Jane,  was  an  effective  blend  of  a  Turkish 
bath  and  a  churn. 

The  "  near  way  "  from  the  cross-roads  opened 
seductively  with  a  lane  leading  to  a  farmhouse, 
and  presently  degenerated  into  an  unfenced  but 
plausible  cart  track  through  the  fields.  Breaches 
had  been  made  in  the  banks  for  its  accommoda- 
tion, and  I  advanced  successfully  towards  the  long 
woods  of  Temple  Braney,  endeavouring,  less  suc- 
cessfully, to  repel  the  attentions  of  two  young 
horses,  who  galloped,  squealed,  and  bucked 
round  me  and  Lady  Jane  with  the  imbecile 
pleasantry  of  their  kind.  The  moment  when  I 
at  length  slammed  in  their  faces  the  gate  of  the 
wood,  was  one  of  sorely  needed  solace. 

Then  came  the  sudden  bath  of  coolness  and 
shade,  and  the  gradual  realisation  that  I  did  not 
in  the  least  know  what  to  do  next.  The  air  was 
full  of  the  deeply  preoccupied  hum  of  insects,  and 
the  interminable  monologue  of  a  wood  pigeon ; 

18 


The  Pug-nosed  Fox 

I  felt  as  if  I  ought  to  apologise  for  my  intrusion. 
None  the  less  I  pursued  a  ride  that  crossed  the 
wood,  making  persevering  efforts  to  blow  my 
horn,  and  producing  nothing  but  gramaphonic 
whispers,  fragmentary  groans,  and  a  headache. 
I  was  near  the  farther  side  of  the  wood  when  I 
saw  fresh  hoof-tracks  on  a  path  that  joined  the 
ride ;  they  preceded  me  to  a  singularly  untempt- 
ing  bank,  with  a  branch  hanging  over  it  and  a 
potato-field  beyond  it.  A  clod  had  been  newly 
kicked  out  of  the  top  of  it ;  I  could  not  evade  the 
conviction  that  Michael  had  gone  that  way.  The 
grey  mare  knew  it  too,  and  bundled  on  to  and 
over  the  bank  with  surprising  celerity,  and 
dropped  skilfully  just  short  of  where  the  potato 
beds  began.  An  old  woman  was  digging  at  the 
other  side  of  the  field,  and  I  steered  for  her, 
making  a  long  tack  down  a  deep  furrow  between 
the  "  lazy-beds." 

"Did  you  see  the  hounds,  ma'am?"  I  called 
out  across  the  intervening  jungle  of  potato  stalks. 

"Sir!" 

She  at  all  events  was  not  deaf.  I  amended 
my  inquiry. 

"  Did  you  see  any  dogs,  or  a  man  in  a  red 
coat?" 

"  Musha,  bad  cess  to  them,  then  I  did ! " 
bawled  the  old  woman,  "  look  at  the  thrack  o' 

19 


Further   'Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.M. 

their  legs  down  thro'  me  little  pratie  garden ! 
'Twasn't  but  a  whileen  ago  that  they  come  leppin' 
out  o'  the  wood  to  me,  and  didn't  I  think  'twas 
the  Divil  and  all  his  young  ones,  an'  I  thrun  me- 
self  down  in  the  thrinch  the  way  they  wouldn't 
see  me,  the  Lord  save  us  !  " 

My  heart  warmed  to  her ;  I  also  would  gladly 
have  laid  down  among  the  umbrageous  stalks  of 
the  potatoes,  and  concealed  myself  for  ever  from 
Michael  and  the  hounds. 

11  What  way  did  they  go  ?"  I  asked,  regretfully 
dismissing  the  vision,  and  feeling  in  my  pocket 
for  a  shilling. 

11  They  went  wesht  the  road,  your  Honour,  an' 
they  screeching  always  ;  they  crossed  out  the  field 
below  over- right  the  white  pony,  and  faith  ye 
couldn't  hardly  see  Michael  Leary  for  the  shweat ! 
God  help  ye  asthore,  yourself  is  getting  hardship 
from  them  as  well  as  another ! " 

The  shilling  here  sank  into  her  earthy  palm, 
on  which  she  prayed  passionately  that  the  saints 
might  be  surprised  at  my  success.  I  felt  that 
as  far  as  I  was  concerned  the  surprise  would  be 
mutual ;  I  had  had  nothing  but  misfortune  since 
ten  o'clock  that  morning,  and  there  seemed  no 
reason  to  believe  that  the  tide  had  turned. 

The  pony  proved  to  be  a  white  mule,  a 
spectral  creature,  standing  in  malign  meditation 

20 


The  Pug-nosed  Fox 

trace-high  in  bracken  ;  I  proceeded  in  its  direc- 
tion at  a  trot,  through  clumps  of  bracken  and 
coarse  grass,  and  as  I  drew  near  it  uttered  a 
strangled  and  heart-broken  cry  of  greeting.  At 
the  same  moment  Lady  Jane  fell  headlong  on  to 
her  nose  and  the  point  of  her  right  shoulder.  It 
is  almost  superfluous  to  observe  that  I  did  the 
same  thing.  As  I  rolled  on  my  face  in  the 
bracken,  something  like  a  snake  uncoiled  itself 
beneath  me  and  became  taut ;  I  clutched  at  it, 
believing  it  to  be  the  reins,  and  found  I  was 
being  hung  up,  like  clothes  on  a  line,  upon  the 
mule's  tethering  rope.  Lady  Jane  had  got  it 
well  round  her  legs,  and  had  already  fallen  twice 
in  her  efforts  to  get  up,  while  the  mule,  round 
whose  neck  the  tether  rope  had  been  knotted, 
was  backing  hard,  like  a  dog  trying  to  pull  its 
head  through  its  collar. 

In  sunstroke  heat  I  got  out  my  knife,  and 
having  cut  the  rope  in  two  places,  an  operation 
accomplished  in  the  depths  of  a  swarm  of  flies 
and  midges,  I  pulled  the  mare  on  to  her  legs. 
She  was  lame  on  the  off  fore,  and  the  rope  had 
skinned  her  shins  in  several  places ;  my  own 
shoulder  and  arm  were  bruised,  and  I  had  broken 
a  stirrup  leather.  Philippa  and  the  photographer 
had  certainly  provided  me  with  a  day  of  varied 
entertainment,  and  I   could  not   be  sure   that  I 

21 


Further   'Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.M. 

had  even  yet  drained  the  cup  of  pleasure  to  the 
dregs. 

I  led  Lady  Jane  out  into  the  road,  and  con- 
sidered the  position.  We  were  about  nine  miles 
from  home,  and  at  least  five  from  any  place  where 
I  could  hire  a  car.  To  walk,  and  lead  the  mare, 
was  an  alternative  that,  powerless  as  events  had 
proved  me  to  be  in  the  hands  of  misfortune,  I 
still  refused  to  consider.  It  was  then  given  me 
to  remember  old  McRory. 

My  acquaintance  with  old  McRory  was  of  the 
slightest.  He  was,  it  was  understood,  a  retired 
Dublin  coal  merchant,  with  an  enormous  family, 
and  a  reputation  for  great  riches.  He  had, 
within  the  last  year  or  so,  taken  the  derelict 
house  of  Temple  Braney,  and  having  by  strenuous 
efforts  attained  that  dubious  honour,  the  Com- 
mission of  the  Peace,  it  had  happened  to  me  to 
sit  on  the  Bench  with  him  on  one  or  two  occa- 
sions. Of  his  family  I  knew  little,  save  that 
whenever  I  saw  an  unknown  young  man  buying 
cigarettes  at  Mr.  Dannaher's  in  Skebawn,  I  was 
informed  that  it  was  one  of  the  young  McRorys, 
a  medical  student,  and  "a  bit  of  a  lad,  but 
nothing  at  all  to  the  next  youngest."  The 
Misses  McRory  were  only  occasionally  viewed, 
whirling  in  large  companies  on  glittering  bicycles, 
and  the  legend  respectfully  ran   that   they  had 

22 


Tthe  Pug-nosed  Fox 

forty  blouses  apiece.  Perhaps  the  most  definite 
information  about  them  was  supplied  by  our  cook, 
Mrs.  Cadogan,  who  assured  Philippa  that  Wild 
Pigs  in  America  wouldn't  be  treated  worse  than 
what  Mrs.  McRory  treated  her  servants.  All 
these  things  together  made  an  unpromising 
aggregate,  but  the  fact  remained  that  Temple 
Braney  House  was  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
of  me,  and  its  charity  my  only  hope. 

The  lodge  gates  of  Temple  Braney  were  wide 
open,  so  was  the  door  of  the  lodge ;  the  weedy 
drive  was  scored  with  fresh  wheel-tracks,  as 
also,  for  the  matter  of  that,  was  the  grass  on 
either  side.  I  followed  it  for  a  short  distance, 
in  the  roomy  shade  of  splendid  beech-trees, 
servants  of  the  old  regime,  preserving  their 
dignity  through  the  vicissitudes  of  the  new. 
Near  the  house  was  a  second  open  gate,  and 
on  a  species  of  arch  over  it  I  was  amazingly 
greeted  by  the  word  "Welcome"  in  white  letters 
on  a  blazing  strip  of  Turkey-red.  This  was  an 
attention  that  I  had  not  anticipated ;  did  it  mean 
a  school-feast  ? 

I  made  a  cautious  survey,  but  saw  nobody, 
and  nerved  by  the  increasing  lameness  of  Lady 
Jane,  I  went  on  to  the  house  and  rang  the  bell. 
There  was  no  response ;  the  hall-door  was  wide 
open,  and  from  an  inner  hall  two  lanky  red  setter 

23 


Further    "Experiences  of  an  Irish  C^M. 

puppies  advanced  with  their  tails  between  their 
legs,  barking  uncertainly,  and  acutely  conscious 
of  the  fact  that  upon  the  collar  of  each  was  fas- 
tened a  flaunting  though  much  chewed  bow  of 
white  satin  ribbon.  Full  of  foreboding  I 
rang  again.  The  bell  tinkled  vigorously  in 
some  fastness  of  the  house,  but  nothing  else 
happened.  I  decided,  to  try  the  stable-yard,  and, 
attended  by  the  decorated  puppies,  set  forth  to 
find  it. 

It  was  a  large  quadrangle,  of  which  one  side 
was  formed  by  a  wing  of  the  house ;  had  there 
been  a  few  more  panes  of  glass  in  the  windows 
and  slates  in  the  roof  it  might  have  been  im- 
posing. A  cavernous  coachhouse  stood  open, 
empty  save  for  the  wheelless  body  of  an  outside 
car  that  was  seated  on  the  floor,  with  wings  out- 
spread like  a  hatching  hen.  Every  stable-door 
gaped  wide.  Odds  and  ends  of  harness  lay  about, 
but  neither  horse  nor  human  being  was  visible. 
A  turkey-cock,  in  transports  of  wrath,  stormed 
to  and  fro  in  front  of  his  household,  and  to  some 
extent  dispelled  the  sentiment  of  desertion  and 
stampede  that  pervaded  the  place.  I  led  the 
limping  mare  into  a  stable  wherein  were  two 
loose-boxes.  A  sickly  smell  greeted  me,  and  I 
perceived  that  in  one  of  the  boxes  was  a  long 
low  cage,  alive  with  the  red-currant-jelly  eyes 

24 


The  Pug-nosed  Fox 

and  pink  noses  of  a  colony  of  ferrets,  and  in 
the  other  was  a  pile  of  empty  wine-boxes  and 
several  bicycles.  Lady  Jane  snorted  heavily, 
and  I  sought  elsewhere  for  a  refuge  for  her. 
I  found  it  at  length  in  a  long  stable  with  six 
empty  stalls,  and  proceeded  to  tie  her  up  in 
one  of  them. 

It  was  while  I  was  thus  engaged  that  a  strange 
succession  of  sounds  began  overhead,  heavy, 
shapeless  sounds  in  which  were  blended  the 
suggestions  of  shove  and  thump.  There  was 
a  brief  interval  of  silence,  during  which  Lady 
Jane  and  I  listened  with  equal  intentness ;  then 
followed  a  hoarse  bellow,  which  resolved  itself 
into  the  enquiry, 

"Is  there  any  one  there?" 

Here  was  the  princess  of  the  enchanted  palace 
waking  up  with  a  vengeance.  More  and  angrier 
bellows  followed ;  I  went  stealthily  out  into  the 
yard,  and  took  stock  of  the  windows  above  the 
stable.  One  of  them  was  open,  and  it  was  from 
it  that  the  voice  issued,  loudly  demanding  release. 
It  roared  a  string  of  Christian  names,  which  I 
supposed  to  be  those  of  the  McRory  family,  it 
used  most  unchristian  language,  and  it  finally 
settled  down  into  shouts  for  help,  and  assevera- 
tions that  it  was  smothering.  I  admit  that  my 
first  and  almost  overwhelming   impulse  was   to 

25 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  I^M. 

steal  a  bicycle  and  wing  my  way  to  my  far-away 
and  peaceful  home,  leaving  Michael,  the  hounds, 
and  the  smothering  gentleman  to  work  out  their 
own  salvation.  Unfortunately  for  me,  the  voice 
of  conscience  prevailed.  There  was  a  ladder 
near  at  hand  leaning  against  the  wall,  and  I 
put  it  to  the  window,  and  went  up  it  as  fast  as 
my  top  boots  would  allow  me,  with  a  vision  before 
me  of  old  McRory  in  apoplexy  as  the  probable 
reward  of  my  labours.  I  thrust  my  head  in, 
blocking  the  light  in  so  doing ;  the  shouting 
ceased  abruptly,  and  after  the  glare  of  sunshine 
outside  I  could  at  first  see  nothing.  Then  was 
revealed  to  me  a  long  and  darksome  room,  once, 
probably,  a  loft,  filled  with  broken  chairs  and 
varieties  of  primeval  lumber.  In  the  middle  of 
the  floor  lay  an  immense  feather  bed,  and  my 
bewildered  eyes  discovered,  at  one  end  of  it,  a 
crimson  face,  the  face,  not  of  old  McRory,  but 
that  of  a  young  gentleman  of  my  acquaintance, 
one  Mr.  Tomsy  Flood  of  Curranhilty.  The 
mysteries  were  deepening.  I  straddled  the 
window-sash,  and  arrived  in  the  room  with  a 
three-cornered  tear  in  the  shoulder  of  my  coat, 
inflicted  by  a  nail  in  the  frame,  and  one  spur 
draped  with  ancestral  cobweb. 

"  Take  me  out  of  this ! "  howled   Mr.   Flood 
hysterically,   accepting   my  pantomime  entrance 

26 


The  Pug-nosed  Fox 

without  question.     "Can't  you  see  I'm  smother- 
ing in  this  damned  thing  ?  " 

Fluff  hung  from  his  black  moustache  and  clung 
to  his  eyebrows,  his  hair  was  full  of  feathers ; 
earthquake  throes  convulsed  the  feather-bed,  and 
the  fact  was  suddenly  revealed  to  me  that  Mr. 
Flood  was  not  under  it,  as  I  had  at  first  imagined, 
but  in  it,  stitched  in,  up  to  the  chin.  The  weaned 
child,  or  any  other  conventional  innocent,  could 
not  have  failed  for  an  instant  to  recognise  the 
handiwork  of  practical  humorists  of  a  high  order. 
I  asked  no  questions,  but  got  out  my  knife  once 
more,  and  beginning  with  due  precaution  some- 
where near  Mr.  Flood's  jugular  vein,  proceeded 
to  slit  open  the  end  of  the  "  tick."  The  stitches 
were  long  and  strong,  and  as  each  one  yielded, 
the  feathers  burst  forth  in  stifling  puffs,  and 
Tomsy  Flood's  allusions  to  the  young  McRorys 
were  mercifully  merged  in  sputtering.  I  did  not 
laugh,  not  at  least  till  I  found  that  I  had  to  drag 
him  out  like  a  mummy,  accompanied  by  half  the 
contents  of  the  bed,  and  perceived  that  he  was 
in  full  evening  clothes,  and  that  he  was  incapable 
of  helping  himself  because  the  legs  of  his  trousers 
were  sewn  together  and  his  coat-sleeves  sewn  to 
his  sides ;  even  then,  I  only  gave  way  in  painful 
secrecy  behind  the  mighty  calves  of  his  legs  as 
I   cut  the  stitches  out.      Tomsy  Flood   walked 

27 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  I^M. 

about  fifteen  stone  and  was  not  in  a  mood  to 
be  trifled  with,  still  less  to  see  the  humour  of 
the  position.  The  medical  students  had  done 
their  work  with  a  surgical  finish,  and  by  the  time 
that  I  had  restored  to  Tomsy  the  use  of  his  legs 
and  arms,  the  feathers  had  permeated  to  every 
recess  of  my  being,  and  I  was  sneezing  as  if  I 
had  hay  fever. 

Having  at  length,  and  with  considerable  diffi- 
culty, got  Mr.  Flood  on  to  his  legs,  I  ventured, 
with  the  tact  demanded  by  the  situation,  a  question 
as  to  whether  he  had  been  dining  at  Temple 
Braney. 

"  Dining  ? "  queried  Mr.  Flood,  with  an  obvious 
effort  of  memory.  "  Yes,  I  was,  to  be  sure ! 
Amn't  I  staying  in  the  house?"  Then,  with  an 
equally  obvious  shock  of  recollection,  "  Sure  I'm 
Best  Man  at  the  wedding  to-day !  " 

The  scattered  elements  of  the  situation  began 
to  fall  symmetrically  into  line,  from  the  open 
gates  to  the  white  bows  on  the  puppies'  collars. 
My  chief  concern,  however,  bearing  in  mind 
Tomsy  Flood's  recent  potations  and  provocations, 
was  to  let  him  down  as  easily  as  possible,  and, 
reserving  my  conclusions  to  myself,  to  escape, 
swiftly  and  silently,  while  yet  there  was  time. 
There  was  always  that  stall-full  of  bicycles ;  I 
could  borrow  clothes  from  Tomsy,  and  leave  this 

28 


The  Pug-nosed  Fox 

accursed  tom-foolery  of  hunting  kit  to  be  fetched 
with  the  mare,  I  could  write  a  beautifully  ex- 
planatory note  when  I  got  home 

"  Hadn't  you  better  get  out  of  your  evening 
things  as  quickly  as  you  can  ? "  I  suggested. 

Mr.  Flood  regarded  me  with  heavy  and  blood- 
shot eyes  of  imperfect  intelligence. 

"  Oh !  I've  time  enough.  Ye  wouldn't  get  a 
pick  of  breakfast  here  before  ten  o'clock  in  the 
day.  Now  that  I  come  to  look  into  you,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  you're  as  big  a  show  as  myself!  Is  it  for 
the  wedding  that  you  have  the  red  coat  on  you  ? " 

I  do  not  now  remember  with  what  lies  I  com- 
posed Tomsy  Flood,  but  I  got  him  out  of  the 
room  at  last  by  a  door  into  a  passage  of  seemingly 
interminable  length  ;  he  took  my  arm,  he  treated 
me  as  his  only  friend,  he  expressed  his  full  con- 
fidence that  I  would  see  fair  play  when  he  got 
a  hold  of  Stanley  McRory.  He  also  gave  it  as 
his  private  opinion  that  his  cousin,  Harry  Flood, 
was  making  a  hare  of  himself  marrying  that 
impudent  little  Pinkie  McRory,  that  was  as 
vulgar  as  a  bag  of  straddles,  in  spite  of  the 
money.  Indeed,  the  whole  family  had  too  many 
airs  about  them  for  his  fancy.  "  They  take  the 
English  Times,  if  you  please,  and  they  all  dress 
for  dinner — every  night  I  tell  ye !  I  call  that  rot, 
y'know ! " 

29 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

We  were  all  this  time  traversing  the  house  by 
labyrinthine  passages,  flights  of  stairs,  and  strange 
empty  lobbies ;  we  progressed  conversationally 
and  with  maddening  slowness,  followed  by  a 
fleecy  train  of  feathers  that  floated  from  us  as  we 
went.  And  all  the  time  I  was  trying  to  remember 
how  long  it  took  to  get  married.  In  my  own 
case  it  seemed  as  if  -I  had  been  in  the  church  for 
two  hours  at  least. 

A  swing-door  suddenly  admitted  us  to  the  hall, 
and  Tomsy  stood  still  to  collect  his  faculties. 

"  My  room's  up  there,"  he  began,  pointing 
vaguely  up  the  staircase. 

At  this  identical  moment  there  was  a  loud  and 
composite  crash  from  behind  a  closed  door  on 
our  right,  followed  by  minor  crashes,  and  noises 
as  of  chairs  falling  about. 

"That's  the  boys!"  said  Tomsy,  a  sudden 
spark  kindling  in  his  eye  ;  "  they're  breakfast- 
ing early,  I  suppose." 

He  dropped  my  arm  unexpectedly,  and  flung 
the  door  open  with  a  yell. 

The  first  object  that  met  my  eyes  was  the 
original  sinner,  Venus,  mounted  on  a  long  and 
highly-adorned  luncheon  table,  cranching  and 
gulping  cold  chicken  as  fast  as  she  could  get  it 
down ;  on  the  floor  half-a-dozen  of  her  brethren 
tore  at  a  round  of  beef  amid  the  debris  of  crockery 

30 


The  Pug-nosed  Fox 

and  glass  that  had  been  involved  in  its  over- 
throw. A  cataract  of  cream  was  pouring  down 
the  table-cloth,  and  making  a  lake  on  the  carpet 
for  the  benefit  of  some  others ;  and  President, 
the  patriarch  of  the  pack,  was  apparently  seated 
on  the  wedding-cake,  while  he  demolished  a  cold 
salmon.  I  had  left  my  whip  in  the  stable,  but 
even  had  this  paralysing  sight  left  me  the  force 
to  use  it,  its  services  would  not  have  been 
needed.  The  leaders  of  the  revel  leaped  from 
the  table,  mowing  down  colonies  of  wine-glasses 
in  the  act,  and  fled  through  the  open  window, 
followed  by  the  rest  of  the  party,  with  a  pre- 
cipitancy that  showed  their  full  consciousness  of 
sin — the  last  scramblers  over  the  sill  yelping  in 
agonised  foretaste  of  the  thong  that  they  believed 
was  overtaking  them. 

At  such  a  moment  of  catastrophe  the  craving 
for  human  sympathy  is  paramount. 

I  turned  even  to  the  fuddled  and  feathered 
Tomsy  Flood  as  to  a  man  and  a  brother,  and 
was  confronted  in  the  doorway  by  the  Bride  and 
Bridegroom. 

Behind  them,  the  hall  was  filling,  with  the 
swiftness  of  an  evil  dream,  with  glowing  faces 
and  wedding  bonnets ;  there  was  a  turmoil  of 
wheels  and  hoofs  at  the  door,  and  through  it 
all,    like    "  horns    of    Elfland    faintly    blowing," 

3i 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CR<M. 

Michael's  blasts  of  summons  to  his  pirates. 
Finally,  the  towering  mauve  bonnet  and  equally 
towering  wrath  of  Mrs.  McRory,  as  she  ad- 
vanced upon  me  and  Tomsy  Flood.  I  thought 
of  the  Wild  Pigs  in  America,  and  wished  I  were 
with  them. 

Lest  I  should  find  myself  the  object  of  a 
sympathy  more  acute  than  I  deserve,  it  may  be 
well  to  transcribe  portion  of  a  paragraph  from 
the  Curranhilty  Herald  of  the  following  week  : — 

"...  After  the  ceremony  a  reception  was 
held  at  Temple  Braney  House,  where  a  sump- 
tuous collation  had  been  provided  by  the  hos- 
pitable Mr.  and  Mrs.  McRory.  The  health  of 
the  Happy  Pair  having  been  drunk,  that  of  the 
Bridesmaids  was  proposed,  and  Mr.  T.  Flood, 
who  had  been  prevented  by  a  slight  indisposi- 
tion from  filling  the  office  of  Best  Man,  was 
happily  sufficiently  recovered  to  return  thanks 
for  them  in  his  usual  sprightly  vein.  Major 
Sinclair  Yeates,  R.M.,  M.F\H.,  who,  in  honour 
of  the  festive  occasion  had  donned  sporting  attire, 
proposed  the  health  of  the  Bride's  Mother  in 
felicitous  terms.  .  .  ." 


32 


II 

A    ROYAL   COMMAND 

When  I  heard  that  Bernard  Shute,  of  Clountiss, 
Esquire,  late  Lieutenant  R.N.,  was  running 
an  Agricultural  Show,  to  be  held  in  his  own 
demesne,  I  did  not  for  a  moment  credit  him 
with  either  philanthropy  or  public  spirit.  I  re- 
cognised in  it  merely  another  outbreak  of  his 
exasperating  health  and  energy.  He  bombarded 
the  country  with  circulars,  calling  upon  farmers 
for  exhibits,  and  upon  all  for  subscriptions  ;  he 
made  raids  into  neighbouring  districts  on  his 
motor  car,  turning  vague  promises  into  bullion, 
with  a  success  in  mendicancy  fortunately  given 
to  few.  It  was  in  a  thoroughly  ungenerous 
spirit  that  I  yielded  up  my  guinea  and  promised 
to  attend  the  Show  in  my  thousands :  peace  at 
twenty-one  shillings  was  comparatively  cheap, 
and  there  was  always  a  hope  that  it  might  end 
there. 

The  hope  was  fallacious :  the  Show  boomed ; 
it  blossomed  into  a  Grand  Stand,  a  Brass  Band, 
an  Afternoon  Tea  Tent ;  finally,  fortune,  as  usual, 

33  c 


Further   "Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

played  into  Bernard's  hands  and  sent  a  Celebrity. 
There  arrived  in  a  neighbouring  harbour  a 
steam  -  yacht,  owned  by  one  of  Mr.  Shute's 
dearest  friends,  one  Captain  Calthorpe,  and 
having  on  board  a  coloured  potentate,  the  Sul- 
tan of  X ,  who  had  come  over  from  Cowes 

to  see  Ireland  and  the  Dublin  Horse  Show. 
The  dearest  friend — who,  as  it  happened,  having 
been  for  three  days  swathed  in  a  wet  fog  from 
the  Atlantic,  was  becoming  something  pressed 
for  entertainment  for  his  charge — tumbled  readily 
into  Bernard's  snare,  and  paragraphs  appeared 
with  all  speed   in  the  local  papers  proclaiming 

the  intention   of  H.H.  the  Sultan  of  X to 

be  present  at  the  Clountiss  Agricultural  Show. 
Following  up  this  coup,  Bernard  achieved  for 
his  function  a  fine,  an  even  sumptuous  day,  and 
the  weather  and  the  Sultan  between  them  filled 
the  Grand  Stand  beyond  the  utmost  hopes  (and 
possibly  the  secret  misgivings)  of  its  constructors. 
Having  with  difficulty  found  seats  on  the  top- 
most corner  for  myself,  my  wife,  and  my  two 
children,  I  had  leisure  to  speculate  upon  its 
probable  collapse.  For  half  an  hour,  for  an 
hour,  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  we  sat  on  its  hot 
bare  boards  and  surveyed  the  wide  and  empty 
oval  of  grass  that  formed  the  arena  of  the  Show. 
Five    "made-up"  jumps  of  varying  dimensions 

34 


iA  Royal  Command 

and  two  vagrant  fox-terriers  were  its  sole  adorn- 
ment.     A  dark   rim  of  spectators  encircled   it, 


THE  EGREGIOUS  SLIPPER 


awaiting  developments,  i.e.  the  arrival  of  the 
Sultan,  with  tireless  patience,  and  the  egregious 
Slipper,  attired   in  a  gala  costume  of  tall   hat, 

35 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.M. 

frock-coat,  white  breeches,  and  butcher  boots, 
gleanings,  no  doubt,  from  bygone  jumble  sales, 
swaggered  and  rolled  to  and  fro,  selling  catalogues 
and  cards  of  the  jumping.  Away  under  the 
tall  elms  near  the  gate,  amid  the  rival  clamour 
of  the  cattle  sheds  and  the  poultry  pens,  was 
stationed  the  green  and  yellow  band  of  the 
"Sons  of  Liberty";  at  intervals  it  broke  into 
an  excruciating  shindy  of  brass  instruments, 
through  which  the  big  drum  drove  a  ferocious 
and  unfaltering  course.  Above  the  heads  of 
the  people,  at  the  far  end  of  the  arena,  tossing 
heads  and  manes  moving  ceaselessly  backwards 
and  forwards  told  where  the  "jumping  horses" 
were  waiting,  eaten  by  flies,  inconsolably  agitated 
by  the  band,  becoming  momently  more  jaded 
and  stale  from  the  delay.  I  thanked  Heaven 
that  neither  my  wife  nor  Bernard  Shute  had 
succeeded  in  inducing  me  to  snatch  my  string 
of  two  from  the  paddock  in  which  they  were 
passing  the  summer,  to  take  part  in  this  purga- 
torial procession. 

The  Grand  Stand,  a  structure  bare  as  a  moun- 
tain top  to  the  assaults  of  sun  and  wind,  was 
canopied  with  parasols  and  prismatic  with 
millinery.  The  farmers,  from  regions  unknown 
to  me,  had  abundantly  risen  to  the  occasion ; 
so   also   had    their   wives   and   daughters ;    and 

36 


zA  Royal  Command 

fashionable  ladies,  with  comfortable  brogues  and 
a  vigorous  taste  in  scent,  closed  us  in  on  every 
side.  Throughout  that  burning  period  of  delay 
went  the  searching  catechisms  of  my  two  sons 
(aged  respectively  four  and  seven)  as  to  the 
complexion,  disposition,  and  domestic  arrange- 
ments of  the  Sultan.  Philippa  says  that  I  ought 
to  have  known  that  they  were  thoroughly  over- 
strung ;  possibly  my  descriptions  of  the  weapons 
that  he  wore  and  the  cannibal  feasts  that  he 
attended  were  a  trifle  lurid,  but  it  seemed  simpler 
to  let  the  fancy  play  on  such  details  than  to 
decide,  for  the  benefit  of  an  interested  entourage 
of  farmers'  daughters,  whether  the  Sultan's  face 
was  the  colour  of  my  boots  or  of  their  mother's, 
and  whether  he  had  a  thousand  or  a  million 
wives.  The  inquiry  was  interrupted  by  the 
quack  of  a  motor  horn  at  the  entrance  gate. 

"  Here  he  is ! "  breathed  the  Grand  Stand  as 
one  man.  There  was  a  flocking  of  stewards  to- 
wards the  gate,  and  the  Sons  of  Liberty,  full  of 
anxiety  to  say  the  suitable  thing,  burst  into  the 
melancholy  strains  of  "  My  Old  Kentucky  Home 
Far  Away."  To  this  somewhat  "hearse-like 
air"  the  group  of  green-rosetted  stewards  ad- 
vanced across  the  arena,  escorting  the  yacht 
party,  in  whose  midst  moved  a  squat  figure,  clad 
in  grey  flannel,  and  surmounted  by  a  massive 

37 


Further   'Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

and  snowy  turban.  My  elder  son  became  very 
pale ;  the  younger  turned  an  ominous  crimson, 
and  the  corners  of  his  mouth  went  down,  slowly, 
but,  as  I  well  knew,  fatally.  The  inevitable 
bellow,  that  followed  in  the  inevitable  routine, 
had  scarcely  died  away  in  the  heart  of  Philippa's 
feather  boa,  when  Mr.  Shute's  red  face  and 
monstrous  Presidential  rosette  presented  them- 
selves on  the  stairs  at  my  elbow. 

"  Mrs.  Yeates  !  "  he  began,  in  a  gusty  whisper, 
"  Cecilia  implores  you  to  come  and  fling  yourself 
to  the  Lion !  She  says  she  simply  can't  and 
won't  tackle  him  single-handed,  and  she  trusts 
to  you  to  see  her  through !  He  talks  French  all 
right,  and  I  know  your  French  is  top-hole !  Do 
come " 

Incredible  as  it  may  appear,  my  wife  received 
this  suggestion  with  a  reluctance  that  was  ob- 
viously but  half-hearted.  Such  it  is  to  have  the 
Social  Gift. 

I  presently  found  myself  alone  with  my  off- 
spring, both  in  tears,  and  deaf  to  my  assurances 
that  neither  the  Sultan,  nor  his  lion,  would  eat 
their  mother.  Consolation,  however,  came  with 
the  entry  of  the  "jumping  horses  "  into  the  arena, 
which  followed  with  all  speed  upon  that  of  the 
Sultan.  The  first  competitor  bucketted  up  to 
the  starting-point,  and  at  the  same  moment  the 

38 


aA  Royal  Command 

discovery  was  made  that  there  was  no  water  in 
the  water-jump,  a  space  of  perhaps  a  foot  in 
depth  by  some  five  feet  wide.  Nothing  but  a 
thin  paste  of  mud  remained,  the  water  having 
disappeared,  unnoticed,  during  the  hot  hours  of 
the  morning. 

Swift  in  expedient,  the  stewards  supplied  the 
difficulty  with  quicklime,  which  was  scattered 
with  a  lavish  hand  in  the  fosse,  and  shone  like 
snow  through  the  barrier  of  furze  bushes  on  the 
take-off  side.  If,  as  I  suppose,  the  object  was 
to  delude  the  horses  into  the  belief  that  it  was  a 
water-jump,  it  was  a  total  failure ;  they  immedi- 
ately decided  that  it  was  a  practical  joke,  dangerous, 
and  in  indifferent  taste.  If,  on  the  other  side,  a 
variety  entertainment  for  the  public  was  aimed  at, 
nothing  could  have  been  more  successful.  Every 
known  class  of  refusal  was  successfully  exhibited. 
One  horse  endeavoured  to  climb  the  rails  into 
the  Grand  Stand ;  another,  having  stopped  dead 
at  the  critical  point,  swung  round,  and  returned 
in  consternation  to  the  starting-point,  with  his 
rider  hanging  like  a  locket  round  his  neck. 
Another,  dowered  with  a  sense  of  humour  un- 
usual among  horses,  stepped  delicately  over  the 
furze  -  bushes,  and,  amidst  rounds  of  applause, 
walked  through  the  lime  with  a  stoic  calm.  Yet 
another,   a    ponderous    war-horse    of    seventeen 

39 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  cRtZM. 

hands,  hung,  trembling  like  an  aspen,  on  the 
brink,  till  a  sympathiser,  possibly  his  owner, 
sprang  irrepressibly  from  his  seat  on  the  stand, 
climbed  through  the  rails,  and  attacked  him  from 
behind  with  a  large  umbrella.  It  was  during 
this  three-cornered  conflict  that  the  green-eyed 
filly  forced  herself  into  the  front  rank  of  events. 
A  chorus  of  "  Hi !  Hi !  Hi !  "  fired  at  the  rate  of 
about  fifty  per  second,  volleyed  in  warning  from 
the  crowd  round  the  starting-point,  and  a  white- 
legged  chestnut,  with  an  unearthly  white  face 
and  flying  flounces  of  tawny  mane  and  tail,  came 
thundering  down  at  the  jump.  Neither  umbrella 
nor  war-horse  turned  her  by  a  hair's-breadth 
from  her  course,  still  less  did  her  rider,  a  lean 
and  long-legged  country  boy,  whose  single  ob- 
ject was  to  keep  on  her  back.  Picking  up  her 
white  stockings,  she  took  off  six  feet  from  the 
jump,  and  whizzed  like  a  driven  grouse  past 
the  combatants  and  over  the  furze  bushes  and 
the  lime.  Beneath  her  creamy  forelock,  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  her  amazing  blue-green 
eyes. 

She  skimmed  the  hurdle,  she  flourished  over 
the  wall,  flinging  high  her  white  heels  with  a 
twist  that  showed  more  consideration  for  their 
safety  than  that  of  her  rider.  She  ramped  over 
the  big  double  bank,  while  the  roars  of  approval 

40 


WHIZZED   LIKE   A   DRIVEN    GROUSE   PAST   THE   COMBATANTS 


aA  Royal  Command 

swelled  with  each  achievement,  and  she  ended 
a  faultless  round  by  bolting  into  the  heart  of  the 
crowd,  which  fled  hilariously,  and  as  hilariously, 
hived  in  round  her  again. 

From  my  exalted  seat  I  could  see  the  Sultan 
clapping  his  hands  in  sweet  accord  with  Philippa. 
Somewhere  near  me  a  voice  yelled  : 

"  Cripes !  She's  a  monkey !  When  she 
jumped  the  wall  she  went  the  height  of  a 
tree  over  it !  " 

To  which  another  voice  replied  that  M  It'd  be 
a  good  bird  that'd  fly  the  height  she  wouldn't 
lep,  and  John  Cullinane'd  be  apt  to  get  first  with 
her  at  the  Skebawn  Show."  I  remembered 
casually  that  John  Cullinane  was  a  neighbour 
of  mine. 

"  Well,  I  wouldn't  fancy  her  at  all,"  said  a 
female  voice.  "I'd  say  she  had  a  very  maleecious 
glance." 

"Ah!  ye  wouldn't  feel  that  when  the  winkers'd 
be  on  her,"  said  the  first  speaker ;  "  she'd  make 
a  fine  sweeping  mare  under  a  side-car." 

Meantime,  the  war-horse,  much  embittered  by 
the  umbrella,  floundered  through  the  lime,  and, 
continuing  his  course,  threw  down  the  hurdle, 
made  a  breach  in  the  wall  that  would,  as  my 
neighbour  put  it,  give  three  hours'  work  to  seven 
idlers,  and  came  to  a  sudden  conclusion  in  front 

41 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  I^M. 

of  the  bank,  while  his  rider  slowly  turned  a 
somersault  that,  by  some  process  of  evolution, 
placed  him  sitting  on  the  fence,  facing  the  large 
and  gloomy  countenance  of  his  horse. 

It  was  after  this  performance  that  my  wife 
looked  round  to  see  if  her  sons  were  enjoying 
themselves,  and  waved  her  handkerchief.  The 
snowy  turban  of  the  Sultan  moved  round  too, 
and  beneath  its  voluminous  folds  the  round,  black 
discs  of  a  pair  of  field-glasses  were  directed  at 
us.  The  effect  was  instant.  With  a  simultaneous 
shriek  of  terror,  my  children  flung  themselves 
upon  me  and  buried  their  faces  in  my  breast.  I 
shall  never  forget  it  to  the  farmers'  daughters 
that,  in  this  black  hour,  their  sympathy  was 
prompt  and  practical. 

"  Oh  !  Fie,  fie  !  Oh !  the  creatures  !  'Twas  the 
spy-glasses  finished  them  altogether !  Eat  a 
sweetie  now,  lovey !  that's  the  grand  man ! 
Pappy'll  not  let  the  dirty  fella  near  ye ! " 

A  piece  of  the  brown  sugar-stick,  known  as 
M  Peggy's  leg,"  accompanied  these  consolations, 
and  a  tearful  composure  was  gradually  restored ; 
but  "Pappy"  had  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that 
he  had  had  about  as  much  as  he  could  stand. 
In  shameful  publicity  I  clambered  down  the 
steep  tiers  of  seats,  with  one  child  under  my 
arm,  the  other  adhering  to  my  coat-tail.    Philippa 

42 


<iA  Royal  Command 

made  agitated  signals  to  me ;    I  cut  her  dead, 
and  went  to  ground  in  the  tea  tent. 

A  couple  of  days  later  my  duty  took  me  to 
the  farthest  end  of  my  district — a  matter  that 
involved  a  night's  absence  from  home.  I  left 
behind  me  an  infant  family  restored  to  calm, 
and  a  thoroughly  domesticated  wife  and  mother, 
pledged  to  one  o'clock  dinner  with  the  children 
and  tea  in  the  woods.  I  returned  in  time  for 
luncheon  next  day,  bicycling  from  the  station, 
as  was  my  wont.  It  was  a  hot  day,  and  as  I 
walked  my  bicycle  up  the  slope  of  the  avenue, 
the  shade  of  the  beech  trees  was  passing  plea- 
sant ;  the  dogs  galloped  to  meet  me  over  the 
soft  after-grass,  and  I  thought  about  flannels  and 
an  idle  afternoon. 

In  the  hall  I  met  Margaret,  the  parlour-maid, 
engaged,  with  the  housemaid,  in  carrying  the 
writing-table  out  of  my  smoking-room.  They  were 
talking  loudly  to  each  other,  and  I  noticed  that 
their  eyes  were  very  bright  and  their  complexions 
considerably  above  par.  I  am  a  man  of  peace, 
but  the  veriest  dove  will  protect  its  nest,  and  I 
demanded  with  some  heat  the  cause  of  this  outrage. 

"The  Mistress  told  us  to  clear  this  room  for 
the  servant  of  the — the  gentleman's  that's  coming 
to  lunch  to-morrow,  sir,"  replied  Margaret  with 
every  appearance  of  offence. 

43 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

She  and  Hannah  staggered  onwards  with  my 
table,  and  the  contents  of  the  drawers  rolled  and 
rattled. 

"  Put  down  that  table,"  I  said  firmly.  "  Where 
is  the  Mistress?" 

"  I  believe  she's  dressing,  sir,"  replied  Mar- 
garet ;  "  she  only  came  home  about  an  hour  ago. 
She  was  out  all  night  on  the  sea,  I  believe." 

Instant  on  the  heels  of  these  astonishing  state- 
ments the  swing  door  to  the  kitchen  was  flung 
open,  and  Mrs.  Cadogan's  angry  voice  was  pro- 
jected through  it. 

"  Hannah !  go  tell  the  Mistress  the  butcher's 
below,  and  he  says  he  never  heard  tell  of  the 
like,  and  would  she  lend  him  one  o'  the  Major's 
spears  ?  How  would  the  likes  o'  him  have  a 
spear !     Such  goings  on ! " 

11  What  the  devil  is  all  this  about  ? "  I  said 
with  an  equal  anger.  "  No  one  is  to  touch  my 
spears ! " 

"  Thanks  be  to  God,  the  Major's  come  home ! " 
exclaimed  the  ruler  of  the  kitchen,  advancing 
weightily  into  the  hall.  "  There's  no  fear  I'd 
put  a  hand  on  your  spears,  sir,  nor  the  butcher 
neither,  the  poor,  decent  man !  He  says  he's 
supplying  the  gentry  for  twenty-five  years,  and 
he  was  never  asked  to  do  the  like  of  a  nasty 
thing  like  that ! " 

44 


zA  Royal  Command 

H  Like  what  /"  I  said,  with  growing  wrath  and 
bewilderment. 

"It's  what  the  Mistress  said,"  rejoined  Mrs. 
Cadogan,  the  flush  of  injury  mounting  to  her 
cap-frill.  "That  what-shall-I-call-him  —  that 
King,  wouldn't  ate  mate  without  it'd  be  speared ! 
And  it's  what  I  say,"  she  went  on,  perorating 
loudly  and  suddenly,  "  what's  good  enough  for 
Christians  and  gentry  is  good  enough  for  an 
owld  Blackamoor  ! " 

It  was  now  sufficiently  obvious  that  Philippa 
had,  with  incredible  perfidy,  taken  advantage  of 
my  absence  to  embroil  herself  in  the  entertain- 
ment of  barbaric  royalty.  "  Tell  the  butcher  to 
wait,"  was  all  I  could  trust  myself  to  say,  as  I 
started  in  search  of  my  wife. 

"  Wait,  Sinclair  !  I'm  coming  down  ! "  cried 
an  urgent  voice  from  the  upper  landing,  and 
Philippa,  attired  in  what  I  may  perhaps  describe 
as  a  tempestuous  dressing-gown,  came  swiftly 
downstairs  and  swept  me  before  her  into  the 
drawing-room. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said  breathlessly,  "  let  me 
break  it  to  you  as  gently  as  possible.  The 
Shutes  called  for  me  in  the  motor  after  you 
left  yesterday,  and  we  went  on  board  Bernard's 
yacht  and  sailed  round  to  tea  with  Captain 
Calthorpe  and  the  Sultan.     We  were  becalmed 

45 


Further   'Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

coming  back,  and  we  were  out  all  night — we 
had  nothing  to  eat  but  the  men's  food — not 
that  I  wanted  anything !  "  She  gave  a  nauseated 
shudder  of  reminiscence.  "  There  was  an  awful 
swell.  It  rained,  too.  Cecilia  and  I  tried  to 
sleep  in  the  cabin  with  all  our  clothes  on ;  I 
never  spent  a  more  horrible  night.  The  yacht 
crawled  in  with  the  tide  at  about  ten  o'clock 
this  morning,  and  I  got  back  here  half-dead, 
and  was  just  going  up  to  bed  when  Captain 
Calthorpe  arrived  on  a  car  and  said  that  the 
Sultan  wanted  to  lunch  here  to-morrow.  He 
says  we  must  have  him — it's  a  kind  of  Royal 
command — in  fact,  I  suppose  you  ought  to  wear 
your  frock-coat ! " 

"  I'm  dashed  if  I  do  !  "  I  said,  with  decision. 

"Well,  be  that  as  it  may,"  resumed  Philippa, 
discreetly  evading  this  point,  "that  green-eyed 
thing  that  got  the  first  prize  for  jumping  is  to 
be  here  to  meet  him.  He  wants  to  buy  it  for 
his  State  carriage.  I  did  my  best  to  get  out 
of  it,  and  I  told  Captain  Calthorpe  it  would  be 
impossible  to  manage  about  the  food.  I  forgot 
to  tell  you,"  faltered  Philippa,  with  a  wan  giggle, 
"that  he  said  he  must  have  speared  mutton  !  " 

"  I  call  it  an  infernal  liberty  of  Calthorpe's ! " 
I  said,  with  indignation  fanned  by  the  spectacle 
of  Philippa's  sleepless   black-rimmed   eyes   and 

46 


zA  Royal  Command 

pallid  face,  "  dumping  his  confounded  menagerie 
upon  us  in  this  way !  And  I  may  tell  you  that 
those  spears  of  mine  are  poisoned ! " 

"  Oh  1  don't  be  so  horrid,  Sinclair,"  said 
Philippa,  "inventing  difficulties  like  that!" 

I  arose  the  following  morning  with  a  heart  of 
lead — of  boiling  lead — as  I  went  down  early  to 
the  smoking-room  to  look  for  cigarettes  and  found 
that  they,  in  common  with  every  other  thing  that 
I  wanted,  had  been  tidied  into  oblivion.  From 
earliest  dawn  I  had  heard  the  thumping  of  feet, 
and  the  swish  of  petticoats,  and  the  plying  of 
brooms ;  but  for  me  the  first  shot  of  the  engage- 
ment was  not  fired  till  8.30,  when,  as  I  was 
moodily  stropping  my  razor,  I  was  told  that  John 
Cullinane  was  below,  and  would  be  thankful  to 
see  me.  As  I  shaved,  I  could  see  John  Cullinane 
standing  about  in  front  of  the  house,  in  his  Sunday 
clothes,  waiting  for  me ;  and  I  knew  that  he 
would  so  wait,  patiently,  inexorably,  if  I  did  not 
come  down  till  noonday. 

I  interviewed  him,  unsympathetically,  on  the 
hall  door  steps,  and  told  him,  firstly,  that,  as  I 
knew  nothing  of  his  filly,  I  could  not  "say  a 
good  word  "  to  the  Sultan  for  her ;  and,  secondly, 
that  I  certainly  would  not  mention  to  the  Sultan 
that,  in  my  opinion,  she  was  a  cheap  mare  at  £%o. 
John  Cullinane  then  changed   the   conversation 

47 


Further   'Experiences  of  an  Irish  eJRcM. 

by  remarking  that  he  had  brought  over  a  small 
little  donkey  for  a  present  for  the  young  gentle- 
men ;  to  which,  with  suitable  politeness,  I  re- 
sponded that  my  children  already  had  a  donkey, 
and  that  I  could  not  think  of  depriving  him  of 
his,  and  the  interview  closed. 

Breakfast  was  late,  and  for  the  most  part  un- 
eatable, the  excitement  of  the  household  having 
communicated  itself  to  the  kitchen-range. 

"  If  I  was  to  put  my  head  under  it,  it  wouldn't 
light  for  me  !  "  Mrs.  Cadogan  said  to  Philippa. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  judging  by  a  glimpse 
vouchsafed  to  me  of  her  face  as  I  struggled  forth 
from  the  cellar  with  a  candle  and  the  champagne, 
one  might  have  expected  it  to  cause  a  conflagra- 
tion anywhere. 

My  smoking-room  had  been  dedicated  to  the 
Sultan's  personal  attendant,  a  gentleman  who 
could  neither  lunch  with  his  master  nor  with  my 
servants ;  I  was  therefore  homeless,  and  crept, 
an  outcast,  to  the  drawing-room  to  try  to  read 
the  newspaper  undisturbed.  Sounds  from  above 
told  me  that  trouble  was  brewing  in  the  nursery ; 
I  closed  the  door. 

At  about  eleven-thirty  an  outside  car  drove  up 
to  the  house,  and  I  saw  a  personable  stranger 
descend  from  it,  with  a  black  bag  in  his  hand, 
a  forerunner,  no  doubt,  of  the  Sultan,  come  over 

48 


aA  Royal  Command 

to  see  that  the  preparations  were  en  rdgle.  I  saw 
no  reason  for  my  intervention,  and,  with  a  passing 
hope  that  Providence  might  deliver  him  over  to 
Mrs.  Cadogan,  I  returned  to  my  paper.  The  door 
was  flung  open. 

"  Sinclair,  dear,"  said  my  wife,  very  apologeti- 
cally, "here  is  Mr.  Werner,  the  piano-tuner,  from 
Dublin.  He  says  he  can't  come  again — he 
thinks  he  can  finish  it  by  luncheon-time.  I  quite 
forgot  that  he  was  coming " 

Mr.  Werner's  spectacled  and  supercilious  face 
regarded  me  over  her  shoulder ;  he  evidently  had 
a  low  opinion  of  me,  I  do  not  know  why.  With 
one  Cenci-like  glance  of  reproach  at  Philippa,  I 
rose  and  left  the  room.  As  I  put  on  my  cap  I 
heard  the  first  fierce  chords  break  forth,  followed 
by  the  usual  chromatic  passages,  fluent  and 
searching,  which  merged  in  their  turn  into  a 
concentrated  attack  upon  a  single  note.  I 
hurried  from  the  house. 

It  was  a  perfect  August  morning ;  the  dogs 
lay  on  the  hot  gravel  and  panted  politely  as  I 
spoke  to  them,  but  did  not  move.  Rejected 
by  all,  I  betook  myself  to  a  plantation  near  the 
front  gate  to  see  how  the  work  of  clearing  a 
ride  was  progressing.  The  cross-cut  saw  and  a 
bill-hook  lay  on  the  ground,  but  of  workmen 
there  was  no  sign.     From  the  high  road  came 

49  D 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  I^.M. 

the  sound  of  wheels  and  of  rapid  trotting,  also 
something  that  seemed  like  cheering. 

u  Good  heavens ! M  I  thought,  my  blood  running 
cold,  "  here  they  are ! " 

I  broke  through  the  tall  bracken  and  the 
larches  to  an  opening  from  which  the  high  road 
was  visible.  My  two  workmen  were  lying  on 
their  stomachs  across  the  coping  of  the  demesne 
wall,  and  a  line  of  countrymen,  with  their  best 
clothes  on  and  crape  "weepers"  on  their  hats, 
sat  on  the  opposite  fence  and  applauded  what 
was  apparently  a  trotting  match  between  a  long- 
legged  bay  colt  and  John  Cullinane's  chestnut 
filly,  owners  up. 

I  joined  the  entertainment,  my  two  men  melt- 
ing like  snow  from  the  top  of  the  wall,  and  it  was 
explained  to  me  that  there  had  been  a  funeral  in 
the  locality,  and  that  these  were  a  few  of  the 
neighbours  that  had  been  at  it,  and  were  now 
waiting  to  see  the  Black  Gentleman.  An  out- 
side car  rested  on  its  shafts  by  the  side  of  the 
road,  and  a  horse  with  harness  on  it  browsed 
voraciously  on  the  shrubs  inside  my  gate.  Far 
away  down  the  road  I  saw  the  receding  figures 
of  my  two  children,  going  forth  to  the  picnic  that 
had  been  arranged  to  allay  their  panic  and  to 
remove  them  from  the  sphere  of  action.  Any 
Irish  person  will  readily  believe  that  one  of  them 

50 


sA  Royal  Command 

was  mounted  on  "the  small  little  donkey,"  the 
bribe  which  I  had  that  morning  irrevocably 
repudiated.  I  knew  that  John  Cullinane  saw 
them  too,  but  I  was  too  broken  to  interfere ;  I 
turned  my  back  and  walked  rapidly  away. 

The  rhythmic  rasp  of  the  cross-cut  told  me 
that  work  at  the  clearing  had  been  resumed ; 
I  said  to  myself  vindictively  that  I  would  see 
that  it  continued,  and  returned  to  the  ride.  The 
bill -hook  was  doing  nothing,  and  picking  it 
up  I  fell  to  snicking  and  chopping,  with  sooth- 
ing destructiveness,  among  the  briars  and  ash- 
saplings.  Notwithstanding  heat  and  horseflies, 
the  time  passed  not  disagreeably,  and  I  was,  at 
all  events,  out  of  range  of  the  piano.  I  had 
paused  for  the  fifteenth  time  to  wipe  a  heated 
brow,  and  extract  a  thorn  from  my  finger,  when 
the  familiar  voice  of  the  Shutes'  motor-horn 
roused  me  to  the  appalling  fact  that  it  was  nearly 
luncheon-time,  and  that  I  was  far  from  fit  to 
receive  Royalty.  As  I  hurriedly  emerged  from 
the  wood,  there  was  a  sound  of  hard  galloping, 
and  I  beheld  the  green-eyed  filly  flying  riderless 
up  the  avenue.  She  crossed  the  croquet  ground, 
thoroughly,  from  corner  to  corner,  and  dis- 
appeared into  the  shrubbery  in  the  direction  of 
the  flower  garden.  I  ran  as  I  have  seldom  run, 
dimly  aware  of  a  pursuing  party  of  mourners  on 

5i 


Further   "Experiences  of  an  Irish  CR<M. 

the  avenue  behind  me,  and,  as  I  ran,  I  cursed 
profusely  the  Sultan,  Calthorpe,  and  chiefly 
Bernard  Shute  and  all  his  works. 

The  chase  lasted  for  twenty  minutes,  and  was 
joined  in  by  not  less  than  fivc-and-thirty  people. 
The  creamy  mane  of  the  filly  floated  like  a 
banner  before  us  through  the  shrubberies,  with 
the  dogs  in  full  cry  behind  her ;  through  it  all 
went  the  reiterations  of  the  piano,  the  mono- 
tonous hammerings,  the  majestic  chords,  the 
pyrotechnic  scales ;  they  expressed  as  fully  as 
he  himself  could  have  desired  the  complete 
indifference  of  the  tuner.  The  filly  was  ubi- 
quitous ;  at  one  moment  she  was  in  the  flower 
garden,  the  next,  a  distant  uproar  among  the 
poultry  told  that  she  had  traversed  the  yard, 
whence  she  emerged,  ventre-d-terre,  delivered 
herself  of  three  bucks  at  sight  of  her  original 
enemy  the  motor,  at  the  hall  door,  and  was  away 
again  for  the  croquet  ground.  At  every  turn 
I  encountered  a  fresh  pursuer ;  it  was  Bernard 
Shute  and  the  kitchen-maid  who  slammed  the 
flower-garden  gate  in  her  face ;  it  was  Philippa, 
in  her  very  best  dress,  abetted  by  John  Cullinane, 
very  dusty,  and  waving  a  crushed  and  weepered 
hat,  who,  with  the  best  intentions,  frustrated  a 
brilliant  enveloping  movement  directed  by  me ; 
finally  the  cross-cut  saw  men,  the  tuner's  car- 

52 


zA  Royal  Command 

driver,  and  a  selection  from  the  funeral,  came 
so  near  cornering  her  that  she  charged  the  sunk 
fence,  floated  across  its  gulf  with  offensive  ease, 
and  scurried  away,  with  long  and  defiant  squeals, 
to  assault  my  horses  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
paddock. 

When  we,  i.e.  Philippa,  Bernard,  and  I,  pulled 
ourselves  together  on  the  top  of  the  steps,  it 
was  two  o'clock.  By  the  special  favour  of 
Providence  the  Sultan  was  late,  but  the  posi- 
tion was  desperate.  Philippa  had  trodden  on 
the  front  of  her  dress  and  torn  it,  Bernard  had 
greened  the  knees  of  his  trousers ;  I  do  not 
know  what  I  looked  like,  but  when  Cecilia  Shute 
emerged,  cool  and  spotless,  from  the  hall,  where 
she  had  judiciously  remained  during  the  pro- 
ceedings, she  uttered  a  faint  shriek  and  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  I  know,"  I  said,  with  deadly  calm,  stuffing 
my  tie  inside  my  waistcoat,  "  I  can't  help  it " 

"  Here  they  are !  "  said  Bernard. 

The  sound  of  wheels  was  indeed  in  the  avenue. 
We  fled  as  one  man  into  the  back  hall,  and 
Philippa,  stumbling  over  her  torn  flounce,  fell 
on  her  knees  at  the  feet  of  Mr.  Werner,  the 
tuner,  who  stood  there,  his  task  finished,  awaiting 
with  cold  decorum  the  reward  of  his  labours. 
The  wheels  stopped.     What  precisely  happened 

53 


Further   "Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.M. 

during  that  crowded  moment  I  cannot  pretend 
to  explain,  but  as  we  dragged  my  wife  to  her 
feet  I  found  that  she  had  knelt  on  my  eyeglass, 
with  the  result  that  may  be  imagined. 

All  was  now  lost  save  honour.  I  turned  at 
bay,  and  dimly  saw,  silhouetted  in  the  open 
doorway,  a  short  figure  in  a  frock-coat,  with  a 
species  of  black  turban  on  its  head.  I  advanced, 
bowed,  and  heroically  began : 

"Sire!  J'ai  l'honneur " 

"  Yerrah  my  law  !  Major ! "  said  the  bewildered 
voice  of  Slipper.  "  Don't  be  making  game  of 
me  this  way !  Sure  I  have  a  tallagram  for  you." 
He  removed  the  turban,  which  I  now  perceived 
to  be  a  brown  tweed  cap,  swathed  in  a  crape 
11  weeper,"  and  handed  me  the  telegram.  "  I 
got  it  from  the  boy  that  was  after  breaking  his 
bike  on  the  road,  an'  I  coming  from  the  funeral." 

The  telegram  was  from  Calthorpe,  and  said, 
with  suitable  regrets,  that  the  Sultan  had  been 
summoned  to  London  on  instant  and  important 
business. 

I  read  it  to  the  back  hall,  in  a  voice  broken 
by  many  emotions. 

"  I  saw  the  gentleman  you  speak  of  waiting 
for  the  Dublin  train  at  Sandy  Bay  Station  this 
morning,"  remarked  the  tuner,  condescending  for 
a  moment  to  our  level. 

54 


aA  Royal  Command 

M  Then  why  did  you  not  tell  us  so  ?  "  demanded 
Philippa,  with  sudden  indignation. 

"  I  was  not  aware,  madam,  that  it  was  of  any 
importance,"  replied  Mr.  Werner,  returning  to 
his  normal  altitude  of  perpetual  frost. 

Incredible  as  it  may  seem,  it  was  apparent 
that  Philippa  was  disappointed.  As  for  me,  my 
heart  was  like  a  singing  bird. 


55 


Ill 

POISSON    D'AVRIL 

The  atmosphere  of  the  waiting-room  set  at 
naught  at  a  single  glance  the  theory  that  there 
can  be  no  smoke  without  fire.  The  station- 
master,  when  remonstrated  with,  stated,  as  an 
incontrovertible  fact,  that  any  chimney  in  the 
world  would  smoke  in  a  south-easterly  wind,  and 
further,  said  there  wasn't  a  poker,  and  that  if  you 
poked  the  fire  the  grate  would  fall  out.  He  was, 
however,  sympathetic,  and  went  on  his  knees 
before  the  smouldering  mound  of  slack,  endea- 
vouring to  charm  it  to  a  smile  by  subtle  prod- 
dings  with  the  handle  of  the  ticket-punch. 
Finally,  he  took  me  to  his  own  kitchen  fire  and 
talked  politics  and  salmon-fishing,  the  former 
with  judicious  attention  to  my  presumed  point 
of  view,  and  careful  suppression  of  his  own,  the 
latter  with  no  less  tactful  regard  for  my  admission 
that  for  three  days  I  had  not  caught  a  fish,  while 
the  steam  rose  from  my  wet  boots,  in  witness  of 
the  ten  miles  of  rain  through  which  an  outside 
car  had  carried  me. 

56 


Poisson  UAvril 

Before  the  train  was  signalled  I  realised  for 
the  hundredth  time  the  magnificent  superiority 
of  the  Irish  mind  to  the  trammels  of  officialdom, 
and  the  inveterate  supremacy  in  Ireland  of  the 
Personal  Element. 

"You  might  get  a  foot-warmer  at  Carrig  Junc- 
tion," said  a  species  of  lay  porter  in  a  knitted 
jersey,  ramming  my  suit-case  upside  down  under 
the  seat.  "  Sometimes  they're  in  it,  and  more 
times  they're  not." 

The  train  dragged  itself  rheumatically  from  the 
station,  and  a  cold  spring  rain — the  time  was  the 
middle  of  a  most  inclement  April — smote  it  in  flank 
as  it  came  into  the  open.  I  pulled  up  both  windows 
and  began  to  smoke  ;  there  is,  at  least,  a  semblance 
of  warmth  in  a  thoroughly  vitiated  atmosphere. 

It  is  my  wife's  habit  to  assert  that  I  do  not 
read  her  letters,  and  being  now  on  my  way  to 
join  her  and  my  family  in  Gloucestershire,  it 
seemed  a  sound  thing  to  study  again  her  latest 
letter  of  instructions. 

"  I  am  starting  to-day,  as  Alice  wrote  to  say 
we  must  be  there  two  days  before  the  wedding, 
so  as  to  have  a  rehearsal  for  the  pages.  Their 
dresses  have  come,  and  they  look  too  delicious  in 
them " 

(I  here  omit  profuse  particulars  not  pertinent 

to  this  tale) 

57 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  I^M. 

"  It  is  sickening  for  you  to  have  had  such  bad 
sport.  If  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst  couldn't 
you  buy  one  ? " 

I  smote  my  hand  upon  my  knee.  I  had  for- 
gotten the  infernal  salmon !  What  a  score  for 
Philippa !  If  these  contretemps  would  only  teach 
her  that  I  was  not  to  be  relied  upon,  they  would 
have  their  uses,  but  experience  is  wasted  upon 
her ;  I  have  no  objection  to  being  called  an 
idiot,  but,  that  being  so,  I  ought  to  be  allowed 
the  privileges  and  exemptions  proper  to  idiots. 
Philippa  had,  no  doubt,  written  to  Alice  Hervey, 
and  assured  her  that  Sinclair  would  be  only  too 
delighted  to  bring  her  a  salmon,  and  Alice 
Hervey,  who  was  rich  enough  to  find  much 
enjoyment  in  saving  money,  would  reckon  upon 
it,  to  its  final  fin  in  mayonnaise. 

Plunged  in  morose  meditations,  I  progressed 
through  a  country  parcelled  out  by  shaky  and 
crooked  walls  into  a  patchwood  of  hazel  scrub 
and  rocky  fields,  veiled  in  rain.  About  every 
six  miles  there  was  a  station,  wet  and  windswept ; 
at  one  the  sole  occurrence  was  the  presentation 
of  a  newspaper  to  the  guard  by  the  station- 
master;  at  the  next  the  guard  read  aloud  some 
choice  exerpts  from  the  same  to  the  porter.  The 
Personal  Element  was  potent  on  this  branch  of 
the  Munster  and  Connaught  Railway.     Routine, 

58 


THE   GUARD   PUT    HIS   HAND   OVER   HIS   MOUTH 


Poisson  D'Avril 

abhorrent  to  all  artistic  minds,  was  sheathed  in 
conversation ;  even  the  engine-driver,  a  function- 
ary ordinarily  as  aloof  as  the  Mikado,  alleviated 
his  enforced  isolation  by  sociable  shrieks  to  every 
level  crossing,  while  the  long  row  of  public- 
houses  that  formed,  as  far  as  I  could  judge,  the 
town  of  Carrig,  received  a  special  and,  as  it 
seemed,  humorous  salutation. 

The  Time-Table  decreed  that  we  were  to  spend 
ten  minutes  at  Carrig  Junction  ;  it  was  fifteen 
before  the  crowd  of  market  people  on  the  plat- 
form had  been  assimilated;  finally,  the  window 
of  a  neighbouring  carriage  was  flung  open,  and 
a  wrathful  English  voice  asked  how  much  longer 
the  train  was  going  to  wait.  The  stationmaster, 
who  was  at  the  moment  engrossed  in  conversa- 
tion with  the  guard  and  a  man  who  was  carry- 
ing a  long  parcel  wrapped  in  newspaper,  looked 
round,  and  said  gravely — 

"  Well  now,  that's  a  mystery ! " 

The  man  with  the  parcel  turned  away,  and 
convulsively  studied  a  poster.  The  guard  put 
his  hand  over  his  mouth. 

The  voice,  still  more  wrathfully,  demanded  the 
earliest  hour  at  which  its  owner  could  get  to  Belfast. 

"  Ye'll  be  asking  me  next  when  I  take  me 
breakfast,"  replied  the  stationmaster,  without 
haste  or  palpable  annoyance. 

59 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.M. 

The  window  went  up  again  with  a  bang,  the 
man  with  the  parcel  dug  the  guard  in  the  ribs 
with  his  elbow,  and  the  parcel  slipped  from  under 
his  arm  and  fell  on  the  platform. 

"  Oh  my  !  oh  my !  Me  fish ! "  exclaimed  the 
man,  solicitously  picking  up  a  remarkably  good- 
looking  salmon  that  had  slipped  from  its  wrapping 
of  newspaper. 

Inspiration  came  to  me,  and  I,  in  my  turn, 
opened  my  window  and  summoned  the  station- 
master. 

Would  his  friend  sell  me  the  salmon  ?  The 
stationmaster  entered  upon  the  mission  with 
ardour,  but  without  success. 

No  ;  the  gentleman  was  only  just  after  running 
down  to  the  town  for  it  in  the  delay,  but  why 
wouldn't  I  run  down  and  get  one  for  myself? 
There  was  half-a-dozen  more  of  them  below  at 
Coffey's,  selling  cheap ;  there  would  be  time 
enough,  the  mail  wasn't  signalled  yet. 

I  jumped  from  the  carriage  and  doubled  out 
of  the  station  at  top  speed,  followed  by  an 
assurance  from  the  guard  that  he  would  not 
forget  me. 

Congratulating  myself  on  the  ascendancy  of 
the  Personal  Element,  I  sped  through  the  soapy 
limestone  mud  towards  the  public-houses.  En 
route  I  met  a  heated  man  carrying  yet  another 

60 


Poisson  Tf  Avril 

salmon,  who,  without  preamble,  informed  me 
that  there  were  three  or  four  more  good  fish  in 
it,  and  that  he  was  after  running  down  from  the 
train  himself. 

11  Ye  have  whips  o'  time ! "  he  called  after  me. 
"It's  the  first  house  that's  not  a  public-house. 
Ye'll  see  boots  in  the  window — she'll  give  them 
for  tenpence  a  pound  if  ye're  stiff  with  her ! " 

I  ran  past  the  public-houses. 

M  Tenpence  a  pound ! "  I  exclaimed  inwardly, 
"at  this  time  of  year!     That's  good  enough." 

Here  I  perceived  the  house  with  boots  in  the 
window,  and  dived  into  its  dark  doorway. 

A  cobbler  was  at  work  behind  a  low  counter. 
He  mumbled  something  about  Herself,  through 
lengths  of  waxed  thread  that  hung  across  his 
mouth,  a  fat  woman  appeared  at  an  inner  door, 
and  at  that  moment  I  heard,  appallingly  near, 
the  whistle  of  the  incoming  mail.  The  fat  woman 
grasped  the  situation  in  an  instant,  and  with 
what  appeared  but  one  movement,  snatched  a 
large  fish  from  the  floor  of  the  room  behind  her 
and  flung  a  newspaper  round  it. 

"Eight  pound  weight!"  she  said  swiftly. 
u  Ten  shillings ! " 

A  convulsive  effort  of  mental  arithmetic  assured 
me  that  this  was  more  than  tenpence  a  pound, 
but  it  was  not  the  moment  for  stiffness.    I  shoved 

61 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

a  half-sovereign  into  her  fishy  hand,  clasped  my 
salmon  in  my  arms,  and  ran. 

Needless  to  say  it  was  uphill,  and  at  the 
steepest  gradient  another  whistle  stabbed  me 
like  a  spur ;  above  the  station  roof  successive 
and  advancing  puffs  of  steam  warned  me  that 
the  worst  had  probably  happened,  but  still  I 
ran.  When  I  gained  the  platform  my  train 
was  already  clear  of  it,  but  the  Personal  Element 
held  good.  Every  soul  in  the  station,  or  so  it 
seemed  to  me,  lifted  up  his  voice  and  yelled. 
The  stationmaster  put  his  fingers  in  his  mouth 
and  sent  after  the  departing  train  an  unearthly 
whistle,  with  a  high  trajectory  and  a  serrated 
edge.  It  took  effect ;  the  train  slackened,  I 
plunged  from  the  platform  and  followed  it  up 
the  rails,  and  every  window  in  both  trains 
blossomed  with  the  heads  of  deeply-interested 
spectators.  The  guard  met  me  on  the  line, 
very  apologetic  and  primed  with  an  explanation 
that  the  gentleman  going  for  the  boat-train 
wouldn't  let  him  wait  any  longer,  while  from 
our  rear  came  an  exultant  cry  from  the  station- 
master. 

11  Ye  told  him  ye  wouldn't  forget  him  !  " 
"  There's  a  few  countrywomen  in  your  carriage, 
sir,"  said   the  guard,   ignoring  the  taunt,  as  he 
shoved  me  and  my  salmon  up  the  side  of  the 

62 


Poisson  D'Avril 

train,  "but  they'll  be  getting  out  in  a  couple  of 
stations.  There  wasn't  another  seat  in  the  train 
for  them ! " 

My  sensational  return  to  my  carriage  was 
viewed  with  the  utmost  sympathy  by  no  less 
than  seven  shawled  and  cloaked  countrywomen. 
In  order  to  make  room  for  me,  one  of  them 
seated  herself  on  the  floor  with  her  basket  in 
her  lap,  another,  on  the  seat  opposite  to  me, 
squeezed  herself  under  the  central  elbow  flap 
that  had  been  turned  up  to  make  room.  The 
aromas  of  wet  cloaks,  turf  smoke,  and  salt  fish 
formed  a  potent  blend.  I  was  excessively  hot, 
and  the  eyes  of  the  seven  women  were  fastened 
upon  me  with  intense  and  unwearying  interest. 

"  Move  west  a  small  piece,  Mary  Jack,  if  you 
please,"  said  a  voluminous  matron  in  the  corner, 
11 1  declare  we're  as  throng  as  three  in  a  bed  this 
minute ! " 

"  Why  then  Julia  Casey,  there's  little  throubling 
yourself,"  grumbled  the  woman  under  the  flap. 
"  Look  at  the  way  meself  is !  I  wonder  is  it  to 
be  putting  humps  on  themselves  the  gentry  has 
them  things  down  on  top  o'  them!  I'd  sooner 
be  carrying  a  basket  of  turnips  on  me  back  than 
to  be  scrooged  this  way ! " 

The  woman  on  the  floor  at  my  feet  rolled 
up  at  me  a  glance  of  compassionate  amusement 

63 


Further   'Experiences  of  an  Irish  CB<M. 

at  this  rustic  ignorance,  and  tactfully  changed 
the  conversation  by  supposing  that  it  was  at 
Coffey's  I  got  the  salmon. 

I  said  it  was.   „ 

There  was  a  silence,  during  which  it  was 
obvious  that  one  question  burnt  in  every 
heart. 

"  I'll  go  bail  she  axed  him  tinpence ! "  said 
the  woman  under  the  flap,  as  one  who  touches 
the  limits  of  absurdity. 

"  It's  a  beautiful  fish ! "  I  said  defiantly. 
"  Eight  pounds  weight.  I  gave  her  ten  shil- 
lings for  it." 

What  is  described  in  newspapers  as  "  sensation 
in  court "  greeted  this  confession. 

"  Look  I "  said  the  woman  under  the  flap, 
darting  her  head  out  of  the  hood  of  her  cloak, 
like  a  tortoise,  "t'  is  what  it  is,  ye  haven't  as 
much  roguery  in  your  heart  as'd  make  ye  a 
match  for  her!" 

"  Divil  blow  the  ha'penny  Eliza  Coffey  paid 
for  that  fish ! "  burst  out  the  fat  woman  in  the 
corner.  "Thim  lads  o'  her's  had  a  creel  full  o' 
thim  snatched  this  morning  before  it  was  making 
day!" 

"  How  would  the  gentleman  be  a  match  for 
her!"  shouted  the  woman  on  the  floor  through 
a   long  -  drawn   whistle   that   told   of    a    coming 

64 


Poisson  jyAvril 

station.  "  Sure  a  Turk  itself  wouldn't  be  a 
match  for  her!  That  one  has  a  tongue  that'd 
clip  a  hedge  !  " 

At  the  station  they  clambered  out  laboriously, 
and  with  groaning.  I  handed  down  to  them 
their  monster  baskets,  laden,  apparently,  with 
ingots  of  lead ;  they  told  me  in  return  that  I 
was  a  fine  grauver  man,  and  it  was  a  pity  there 
weren't  more  like  me ;  they  wished,  finally,  that 
my  journey  might  well  thrive  with  me,  and 
passed  from  my  ken,  bequeathing  to  me,  after 
the  agreeable  manner  of  their  kind,  a  certain 
comfortable  mental  sleekness  that  reason  cannot 
immediately  dispel.  They  also  left  me  in  posses- 
sion of  the  fact  that  I  was  about  to  present  the 
irreproachable  Alice  Hervey  with  a  contraband 
salmon. 

The  afternoon  passed  cheerlessly  into  evening, 
and  my  journey  did  not  conspicuously  thrive 
with  me.  Somewhere  in  the  dripping  twilight 
I  changed  trains,  and  again  later  on,  and  at  each 
change  the  salmon  moulted  some  more  of  its 
damp  raiment  of  newspaper,  and  I  debated 
seriously  the  idea  of  interring  it,  regardless  of 
consequences,  in  my  portmanteau.  A  lamp  was 
banged  into  the  roof  of  my  carriage,  half  an 
inch  of  orange  flame,  poised  in  a  large  glass 
globe,  like   a   gold-fish,  and   of  about   as  much 

65  E 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

use  as  an  illuminant.  Here  also  was  handed 
in  the  dinner  basket  that  I  had  wired  for,  and 
its  contents,  arid  though  they  were,  enabled  me 
to  achieve  at  least  some  measure  of  mechanical 
distension,  followed  by  a  dreary  lethargy  that 
was  not  far  from  drowsiness. 

At  the  next  station  we  paused  long;  nothing 
whatever  occurred,  and  the  rain  drummed 
patiently  upon  the  roof.  Two  nuns  and  some 
school-girls  were  in  the  carriage  next  door,  and 
their  voices  came  plaintively  and  in  snatches 
through  the  partition ;  after  a  long  period  of 
apparent  collapse,  during  which  I  closed  my  eyes 
to  evade  the  cold  gaze  of  the  salmon  through 
the  netting,  a  voice  in  the  next  carriage  said 
resourcefully : 

"Oh,  girls,  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do!  We'll 
say  the  Rosary ! " 

"  Oh,  that  will  be  lovely  ! "  said  another  voice  ; 
"well,  who'll  give  it  out?  Theresa  Condon, 
you'll  give  it  out." 

Theresa  Condon  gave  it  out,  in  a  not  un- 
melodious  monotone,  interspersed  with  the  re- 
sponses, always  in  a  lower  cadence ;  the  words 
were  indistinguishable,  but  the  rise  and  fall  of 
the  western  voices  was  lulling  as  the  hum  of 
bees.     I  fell  asleep. 

I  awoke  in  total  darkness;  the  train  was 
66 


Poisson  LfAvril 

motionless,  and  complete  and  profound  silence 
reigned.  We  were  at  a  station,  that  much  I 
discerned  by  the  light  of  the  dim  lamp  at  the 
far  end  of  a  platform  glistening  with  wet.  I 
struck  a  match  and  ascertained  that  it  was  eleven 
o'clock,  precisely  the  hour  at  which  I  was  to 
board  the  mail  train.  I  jumped  out  and  ran 
down  the  platform ;  there  was  no  one  in  the 
train ;  there  was  no  one  even  on  the  engine, 
which  was  forlornly  hissing  to  itself  in  the  silence. 
There  was  not  a  human  being  anywhere.  Every 
door  was  closed,  and  all  was  dark.  The  name- 
board  of  the  station  was  faintly  visible  ;  with  a 
lighted  match  I  went  along  it  letter  by  letter. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  whole  alphabet  were  in  it, 
and  by  the  time  I  had  got  to  the  end  I  had 
forgotten  the  beginning.  One  fact  I  had,  how- 
ever, mastered,  that  it  was  not  the  junction  at 
which  I  was  to  catch  the  mail. 

I  was  undoubtedly  awake,  but  for  a  moment 
I  was  inclined  to  entertain  the  idea  that  there 
had  been  an  accident,  and  that  I  had  entered 
upon  existence  in  another  world.  Once  more  I 
assailed  the  station  house  and  the  appurtenances 
thereof,  the  ticket-office,  the  waiting  room,  finally, 
and  at  some  distance,  the  goods  store,  outside 
which  the  single  lamp  of  the  station  commented 
feebly  on  the  drizzle  and  the  darkness.     As  I 

67 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

approached  it  a  crack  of  light  under  the  door 
became  perceptible,  and  a  voice  was  suddenly- 
uplifted  within. 

"  Your  best  now  agin  that !  Throw  down  your 
Jack ! " 

I  opened  the  door  with  pardonable  violence, 
and  found  the  guard,  the  stationmaster,  the 
driver,  and  the  stoker,  seated  on  barrels  round 
a  packing  case,  on  which  they  were  playing  a 
game  of  cards. 

To  have  too  egregiously  the  best  of  a  situation 
is  not,  to  a  generous  mind,  a  source  of  strength. 
In  the  perfection  of  their  overthrow  I  permitted 
the  driver  and  stoker  to  wither  from  their  places, 
and  to  fade  away  into  the  outer  darkness  without 
any  suitable  send-off;  with  the  guard  and  the 
stationmaster  I  dealt  more  faithfully,  but  the 
pleasure  of  throwing  water  on  drowned  rats  is 
not  a  lasting  one.  I  accepted  the  statements 
that  they  thought  there  wasn't  a  Christian  in  the 
train,  that  a  few  minutes  here  or  there  wouldn't 
signify,  that  they  would  have  me  at  the  junction 
in  twenty  minutes,  and  it  was  often  the  mail  was 
late. 

Fired  by  this  hope  I  hurried  back  to  my 
carriage,  preceded  at  an  emulous  gallop  by  the 
officials.  The  guard  thrust  in  with  me  the  lantern 
from  the  card  table,  and  fled  to  his  van. 

68 


Poisson  lyAvril 

"Mind  the  goods,  Tim!"  shouted  the  station- 
master,  as  he  slammed  my  door,  "she  might  be 
coming  anytime  now ! " 

The  answer  travelled  magnificently  back  from 
the  engine. 

"  Let  her  come !  She'll  meet  her  match ! "  A 
war-whoop  upon  the  steam  whistle  fittingly 
closed  the  speech,  and  the  train  sprang  into 
action. 

We  had  about  fifteen  miles  to  go,  and  we 
banged  and  bucketed  over  it  in  what  was,  I 
should  imagine,  record  time.  The  carriage  felt 
as  if  it  were  galloping  on  four  wooden  legs,  my 
teeth  chattered  in  my  head,  and  the  salmon  slowly 
churned  its  way  forth  from  its  newspaper,  and 
moved  along  the  netting  with  dreadful  stealth. 

All  was  of  no  avail. 

"Well,"  said  the  guard,  as  I  stepped  forth  on 
to  the  deserted  platform  of  Loughranny,  "that 
owld  Limited  Mail's  th'  unpunctualest  thrain  in 
Ireland !  If  you're  a  minute  late  she's  gone  from 
you,  and  may  be  if  you  were  early  you  might  be 
half-an-hour  waiting  for  her ! " 

On  the  whole  the  guard  was  a  gentleman.  He 
said  he  would  show  me  the  best  hotel  in  the 
town,  though  he  feared  I  would  be  hard  set 
to  get  a  bed  anywhere  because  of  the  "Feis" 
(a  Feis,  I  should  explain,  is  a  Festival,  devoted 

69 


"Further    'Experiences  of  an   Irish  CR^M. 

to  competitions  in  Irish  songs  and  dances).  He 
shouldered  my  portmanteau,  he  even  grappled 
successfully  with  the  salmon,  and,  as  we  traversed 
the  empty  streets,  he  explained  to  me  how  easily 
I  could  catch  the  morning  boat  from  Rosslare, 
and  how  it  was,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  quite  the  act 
of  Providence  that  my  original  scheme  had  been 
frustrated. 

All  was  dark  at  the  uninviting  portals  of  the 
hotel  favoured  by  the  guard.  For  a  full  five 
minutes  we  waited  at  them,  ringing  hard  :  I 
suggested  that  we  should  try  elsewhere. 

"  He'll  come,"  said  the  guard,  with  the  con- 
fidence of  the  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin,  retaining 
an  implacable  thumb  upon  the  button  of  the 
electric  bell.  M  He'll  come.  Sure  it  rings  in 
his  room ! " 

The  victim  came,  half  awake,  half  dressed,  and 
with  an  inch  of  dripping  candle  in  his  fingers. 
There  was  not  a  bed  there,  he  said,  nor  in  the 
town  neither. 

I  said  I  would  sit  in  the  dining-room  till  the 
time  for  the  early  train. 

"  Sure  there's  five  beds  in  the  dining-room," 
replied  the  boots,  "and  there's  mostly  two  in 
every  bed." 

His  voice  was  firm,  but  there  was  a  wavering 
look  in  his  eye. 

70 


THE  VICTIM   CAME 

7« 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

"What  about  the  billiard-room,  Mike?"  said 
the  guard,  in  wooing  tones. 

M  Ah,  God  bless  you !  we  have  a  mattress  on 
the  table  this  minute ! "  answered  the  boots, 
wearily,  "  and  the  fellow  that  got  the  First  Prize 
for  Reels  asleep  on  top  of  it !  " 

"Well,  and  can't  ye  put  the  palliasse  on  the 
floor  under  it,  ye  omadhawn?"  said  the  guard, 
dumping  my  luggage  and  the  salmon  in  the  hall, 
"  sure  there's  no  snugger  place  in  the  house !  I 
must  run  away  home  now,  before  Herself  thinks 
I'm  dead  altogether! " 

His  retreating  footsteps  went  lightly  away  down 
the  empty  street. 

"  Annything  don't  throuble  htm/"  said  the 
boots  bitterly. 

As  for  me,  nothing  save  the  Personal  Element 
stood  between  me  and  destitution. 

It  was  in  the  dark  of  the  early  morning  that  I 
woke  again  to  life  and  its  troubles.  A  voice, 
dropping,  as  it  were,  over  the  edge  of  some 
smothering  over-world,  had  awakened  me.  It 
was  the  voice  of  the  First  Prize  for  Reels,  de- 
scending through  a  pocket  of  the  billiard- table. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  are  ye  going  on  the 
5  to  Cork  ?  " 

I  grunted  a  negative. 

72 


Poisson  TyAvril 

"  Well,  if  ye  were,  ye'd  be  late,"  said  the  voice. 

I  received  this  useful  information  in  indignant 
silence,  and  endeavoured  to  wrap  myself  again  in 
the  vanishing  skirts  of  a  dream. 

"  I'm  going  on  the  6.30  meself,"  proceeded  the 
voice,  "and  it's  unknown  to  me  how  I'll  put  on 
me  boots.  Me  feet  is  swelled  the  size  o'  three- 
pound  loaves  with  the  dint  of  the  little  dancing- 
shoes  I  had  on  me  in  the  competition  last  night. 
Me  feet's  delicate  that  way,  and  I'm  a  great 
epicure  about  me  boots." 

I  snored  aggressively,  but  the  dream  was 
gone.  So,  for  all  practical  purposes,  was  the 
night. 

The  First  Prize  for  Reels  arose,  presenting  an 
astonishing  spectacle  of  grass-green  breeches,  a 
white  shirt,  and  pearl-grey  stockings,  and  accom- 
plished a  toilet  that  consisted  of  removing  these 
and  putting  on  ordinary  garments,  completed  by 
the  apparently  excruciating  act  of  getting  into  his 
boots.  At  any  other  hour  of  the  day  I  might 
have  been  sorry  for  him.  He  then  removed 
himself  and  his  belongings  to  the  hall,  and  there 
entered  upon  a  resounding  conversation  with  the 
boots,  while  I  crawled  forth  from  my  lair  to 
renew  the  strife  with  circumstances  and  to  en- 
deavour to  compose  a  telegram  to  Alice  Hervey 
of  explanation  and  apology  that  should  cost  less 

73 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.Af. 

than  seven  and  sixpence.  There  was  also  the 
salmon  to  be  dealt  with. 

Here  the  boots  intervened,  opportunely,  with 
a  cup  of  tea,  and  the  intelligence  that  he  had 
already  done  up  the  salmon  in  straw  bottle-covers 
and  brown  paper,  and  that  I  could  travel  Europe 
with  it  if  I  liked.  He  further  informed  me  that 
he  would  run  up  to  the  station  with  the  luggage 
now,  and  that  may  be  I  wouldn't  mind  carrying 
the  fish  myself;  it  was  on  the  table  in  the  hall. 

My  train  went  at  6.15.  The  boots  had 
secured  for  me  one  of  many  empty  carriages, 
and  lingered  conversationally  till  the  train  started; 
he  regretted  politely  my  bad  night  at  the  hotel, 
and  assured  me  that  only  for  Jimmy  Durkan 
having  a  little  drink  taken — Jimmy  Durkan  was 
the  First  Prize  for  Reels — he  would  have  turned 
him  off  the  billiard-table  for  my  benefit.  He 
finally  confided  to  me  that  Mr.  Durkan  was  en- 
gaged to  his  sister,  and  was  a  rising  baker  in  the 
town  of  Limerick,  "indeed,"  he  said,  "any  girl 
might  be  glad  to  get  him.  He  dances  like  whale- 
bone, and  he  makes  grand  bread ! " 

Here  the  train  started. 

It  was  late  that  night  when,  stiff,  dirty,  with 
tired  eyes  blinking  in  the  dazzle  of  electric  lights, 
I  was  conducted  by  the  Herveys'  beautiful  foot- 
man into  the  Herveys'  baronial  hall,  and  was  told 

74 


Poisson  iy Avril 

by  the  Herveys'  imperial  butler  that  dinner  was 
over,  and  the  gentlemen  had  just  gone  into  the 
drawing  -  room.  I  was  in  the  act  of  hastily 
declining  to  join  them  there,  when  a  voice 
cried — 

"  Here  he  is ! » 

And  Philippa,  rustling  and  radiant,  came  forth 
into  the  hall,  followed  in  shimmers  of  satin,  and 
flutterings  of  lace,  by  Alice  Hervey,  by  the  bride 
elect,  and  by  the  usual  festive  rout  of  exhilarated 
relatives,  male  and  female,  whose  mission  it  is  to 
keep  things  lively  before  a  wedding. 

"Is  this  a  wedding  present  for  me,  Uncle 
Sinclair  ?  "  cried  the  bride  elect,  through  a  deluge 
of  questions  and  commiserations,  and  snatched 
from  under  my  arm  the  brown  paper  parcel  that 
had  remained  there  from  force  of  direful  habit. 

"  I  advise  you  not  to  open  it ! "  I  exclaimed ; 
"  it's  a  salmon ! " 

The  bride  elect,  with  a  shriek  of  disgust,  and 
without  an  instant  of  hesitation,  hurled  it  at  her 
nearest  neighbour,  the  head  bridesmaid.  The 
head  bridesmaid,  with  an  answering  shriek, 
sprang  to  one  side,  and  the  parcel  that  I  had 
cherished  with  a  mother's  care  across  two 
countries  and  a  stormy  channel,  fell,  with  a 
crash,  on  the  flagged  floor. 

Why  did  it  crash  ? 

75 


Further    'Experiences  of  an  Irish  *2^.M. 

"A  salmon!"  screamed  Philippa,  gazing  at  the 
parcel,  round  which  a  pool  was  already  forming, 
11  why  that's  whisky !     Can't  you  smell  it  ?  " 

The  footman  here  respectfully  interposed,  and 
kneeling  down,  cautiously  extracted  from  folds  of 
brown  paper  a  straw  bottle-cover  full  of  broken 
glass  and  dripping  with  whisky. 

"I'm  afraid  the  other  things  are  rather  spoiled, 
sir,"  he  said  seriously,  and  drew  forth,  succes- 
sively, a  very  large  pair  of  high-low  shoes,  two 
long  grey  worsted  stockings,  and  a  pair  of  grass- 
green  breeches. 

They  brought  the  house  down,  in  a  manner 
doubtless  familiar  to  them  when  they  shared  the 
triumphs  of  Mr.  Jimmy  Durkan,  but  they  left 
Alice  Hervey  distinctly  cold. 

"You  know,  darling,"  she  said  to  Philippa 
afterwards,  "  I  don't  think  it  was  very  clever  of 
dear  Sinclair  to  take  the  wrong  parcel.  I  had 
counted  on  that  salmon." 


76 


IV 

"THE  MAN  THAT  CAME  TO  BUY  APPLES" 

It  had  been  freezing  hard  all  the  way  home,  and 
the  Quaker  skated  perilously  once  or  twice  on  the 
northerly  stretches.  As  I  passed  the  forge  near 
my  gate  I  issued  an  order  for  frost-nails,  and 
while  I  did  so  the  stars  were  kindling  like  dia- 
monds over  the  black  ridge  of  Shreelane  Hill. 

The  overture  to  the  Frost  Symphony  had 
begun,  with  its  usual  beauties  and  difficulties, 
and  its  leading  theme  was  given  forth  in  a 
missive  from  Flurry  Knox,  that  awaited  me  on 
the  hall  table.  Flurry's  handwriting  was  an 
unattractive  blend  of  the  laundress's  bill,  and 
the  rambling  zigzags  of  the  temperature  chart, 
but  he  exhibited  no  more  of  it  than  was  strictly 
necessary  in  getting  to  the  point.  Would  I  shoot 
at  Aussolas  the  following  day  ?  There  were  a 
lot  of  cock  in,  and  he  had  whipped  up  four  guns 
in  a  hurry.  There  was  a  postscript,  "  Bernard 
Shute  is  coming.  Tell  Mrs.  Yeates  he  didn't 
kill  any  one  yet  this  season." 

Since  his  marriage  Flurry  had  been  promoted 
77 


Further    "Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

to  the  position  of  agent  to  his  grandmother,  old 
Mrs.  Knox  of  Aussolas,  and  through  the  un- 
fathomable mazes  of  their  dealings  and  fights 
with  each  other,  the  fact  remained  that  he  had 
secured  to  himself  the  Aussolas  shooting  at  about 
half  its  market  value.  So  Mrs.  Knox  said.  Her 
grandson,  on  the  other  hand,  had  often  informed 
me  that  the  privilege  "  had  him  beggared,  what 
with  beaters  and  all  sorts,  and  his  grandmother's 
cattle  turned  into  the  woods  destroying  all  the 
covert  —  let  alone  her  poaching."  Into  the 
differences  of  such  skilled  combatants  the  pru- 
dent did  not  intrude  themselves,  but  they 
accepted  without  loss  of  time  such  invitations 
to  shoot  at  Aussolas  as  came  their  way.  Not- 
withstanding the  buccaneerings  of  Flurry's 
grandmother,  the  woods  of  Aussolas,  in  decent 
weather,  were  usually  good  for  fifteen  to  twenty 
couple  of  cock. 

I  sent  my  acceptance  before  mentioning  to 
Philippa  that  Bernard  Shute  was  to  be  of  the 
party.  It  was  impossible  to  make  Philippa 
understand  that  those  who  shot  Bernard's  phea- 
sants at  Clountiss,  could  hardly  do  less  than 
retaliate  when  occasion  served.  I  had  once,  in 
a  moment  of  regrettable  expansion,  entertained 
my  wife  with  an  account  of  how  an  entire  shoot- 
ing party  had  successively  cast  themselves  upon 

78 


"  The  Man  that  came  to  Buy  Apples " 

their  faces,  while  the  muzzle  of  Bernard's  gun 
had  followed,  half  way  round  the  compass,  a 
rabbit  that  had  broken  back.  No  damage  had 
ensued,  not  even  to  the  rabbit,  but  I  had  supplied 
Philippa  with  a  fact  that  was  an  unfortunate  com- 
bination of  a  thorn  in  her  pillow  and  a  stone  in 
her  sling. 

The  frost  held ;  it  did  more  than  hold,  it 
gripped.  As  I  drove  to  Aussolas  the  fields  lay 
rigid  in  the  constraining  cold ;  the  trees  were 
as  dead  as  the  telegraph  poles,  and  the  whistle  of 
the  train  came  thin  and  ghostly  across  four  miles 
of  silent  country.  Everything  was  half  alive, 
with  the  single  exception  of  the  pony,  which, 
filled  with  the  idiotic  exaltation  that  frost  imparts 
to  its  race,  danced  upon  its  frost-nails,  shied  with 
untiring  inventiveness,  and  made  three  several 
and  well-conceived  attempts  to  bolt.  Maria, 
with  her  nose  upon  my  gaiter,  shuddered  un- 
interruptedly throughout  the  drive,  partly  because 
of  the  pinching  air,  partly  in  honour  of  the 
sovereign  presence  of  the  gun-case. 

Old  Mrs.  Knox  was  standing  on  the  steps  as  I 
walked  round  to  the  hall  door  of  Aussolas  Castle. 
She  held  a  silver  bowl  in  her  hand ;  on  her  head, 
presumably  as  a  protection  against  the  cold,  was 
a  table-napkin ;  round  her  feet  a  throng  of  hens 
and  pigeons  squabbled  for  the  bits  that  she  flung 

79 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

to  them  from  the  bowl,  and  a  furtive  and  distrust- 
ful peacock  darted  a  blue  neck  in  among  them 
from  the  outskirts. 

u '  Good-morrow,  old  Sir  Thomas  Erpingham,' " 
was  Mrs.  Knox's  singular  greeting,  u  'a  good  soft 
pillow  for  that  good  grey  head  were  better  than 
a  churlish  turf  of  France ' ! " 

My  friendship  with  Mrs.  Knox  was  now  of 
several  years'  standing,  and  I  knew  enough  of 
her  to  gather  that  I  stood  rebuked  for  being  late. 

"Flurry,  arrived  only  half-an-hour  ago!  my 
first  intimation  of  a  shooting  party,"  she  con- 
tinued, in  the  dictatorial  voice  that  was  always 
a  shock  when  taken  in  connection  with  her 
beggar  woman's  costume,  "a  nice  time  of  day 
to  begin  to  look  for  beaters !  And  the  other 
feather-bed  sportsmen  haven't  arrived  yet.  In 
old  times  they  would  have  had  ten  couple  by 
this  time,  and  then  Mr.  Flurry  complains  of  the 
shooting ! " 

She  was  here  interrupted  by  the  twitching  of 
the  table-napkin  from  her  head  by  her  body- 
woman,  who  had  advanced  upon  her  from  the 
rear,  with  the  reigning  member  of  the  dynasty  of 
purple  velvet  bonnets  in  her  hand.  The  bonnet 
was  substituted  for  the  table-napkin,  much  as  a 
stage  property  is  shoved  on  from  the  wings,  and 
two  bony  hands,  advancing  from  behind,  tied  the 

80 


"  The  Man  that  came  to  Buy  Apples " 

strings  under  Mrs.  Knox's  chin,  while  she  un- 
interruptedly fed  the  hens,  and  denounced  the 
effeteness  of  modern  cock-shooters.  The  hands 
descended  and  fixed  a  large  pin  in  the  uppermost 
of  her  mistress'  shawls. 

"  Mullins,  have  done  ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Knox, 
suddenly  tearing  herself  from  her  captor,  "you're 
an  intolerable  nuisance  ! " 

"  Oh,  very  well,  ma'am,  maybe  you'd  sooner  go 
out  with  your  head  naked  and  soak  the  cold ! " 
returned  Mullins,  retiring  with  the  honours  of 
war  and  the  table-napkin. 

"  Mullins  and  I  get  on  famously,"  observed 
Mrs.  Knox,  crushing  an  empty  egg-shell  with 
her  yellow  diamonded  fingers  and  returning  it 
to  its  original  donors,  "  we're  both  mad,  you 
know ! " 

Comment  on  this  might  have  been  difficult, 
but  I  was  preserved  from  it  by  the  approach 
across  the  frozen  gravel  of  a  short,  red-bearded 
man,  Mrs.  Knox's  gardener,  wood-ranger,  and 
ruling  counsellor,  John  Kane.  He  held  in  his 
hands  two  large  apples  of  arsenical  hue,  and, 
taking  off  his  hat  to  me  with  much  dignity, 
addressed  himself  to  the  lady  of  the  house. 

"He  says  he'd  sooner  walk  barefoot  to  Cork 
than  to  give  three  and  fippence  for  the  likes  of 
them ! " 

81  F 


Further    "Experiences  of  an  Irish  CE<M. 

"I'm  sure  I've  no  objection  if  he  does,"  re- 
sponded Mrs.  Knox,  turning  the  silver  bowl 
upside  down  over,  the  scrimmaging  hens  and 
pigeons,  u  I  daresay  it  would  be  no  novelty  to 
him." 

"  And  isn't  that  what  I  told  him ! "  said  John 
Kane,  his  voice  at  once  ascending  to  the  concert 
pitch  of  altercation,  "  I  said  to  him  if  the  Lord 
Left'nant  and  the  Pope  was  follying  me  around 
the  yard  of  Aussolas  offering  three  and  a  penny 
for  them  apples  they'd  not  get  them !  Sure  the 
nuns  gave  us  that  much  for  windfalls  that  was 
only  fit  to  be  making  cherubs  with ! " 

I  might  have  been  struck  by  the  fitness,  as 
well  as  the  ingenuity,  of  this  industry,  but  in 
some  remote  byway  of  my  brain  the  remem- 
brance woke  of  a  "black-currant  cherub"  pre- 
scribed by  Mrs.  Cadogan  for  sore  throats,  and 
divined  by  Philippa  to  be  a  syrup.  I  turned 
away  and  lit  a  cigarette  in  order  to  conceal 
my  feelings  from  John  Kane,  round  whose 
red  beard  the  smoke  of  battle  hung  almost 
palpably. 

"What's  between  you?"  asked  his  mistress 
sharply. 

"Three  and  a  penny  he's  offering,  ma'am!" 
declaimed  her  deputy,  "for  sheeps*  noses  that 
there  isn't  one  in  the  country  has  but  yourself! 

82 


[AND   NOT   A    UROWN    FARTHING    MORE    WOULD    UK   GIVE  " 


"  The  Man  that  came  to  Buy  Apples " 

And  not  a  brown  farthing  more  would  he  give! 
— the  consecrated  blagyard ! " 

Anything  less  like  a  sheep's  nose  than  Mrs. 
Knox's  hooked  beak,  as  she  received  this  in- 
formation, could  hardly  be  imagined. 

■'  You're  half  a  fool,  John  Kane ! "  she  snapped, 
"and  the  other  halfs  not  sensible !  Go  back  ar»d 
tell  him  Major  Yeates  is  here  and  wants  to  buy 
every  apple  I  have ! "  She  dealt  me  a  wink  that 
was  the  next  thing  to  a  dig  in  the  ribs.  As  she 
spoke  a  cart  drawn  by  a  cheerful-looking  grey 
pony,  and  conducted  by  a  tall,  thin  man,  came 
into  view  from  the  direction  of  the  yard.  It 
rattled  emptily,  and  proclaimed,  as  was  intended, 
the  rupture  of  all  business  relations. 

"  See  here,  sir,"  said  John  Kane  to  me  in  one 
hoarse  breath,  "  when  he's  over-right  the  door 
I'll  ask  him  the  three  and  fippence  again,  and 
when  he  refuses,  your  Honour  will  say  we  should 
split  the  difference " 

The  cart  advanced,  it  passed  the  hall  door 
with  a  dignity  but  little  impaired  by  the  pony's 
apprehensive  interest  in  the  peacock,  and  the 
tall  man  took  off  his  hat  to  Mrs.  Knox  with 
as  gloomy  a  respect  as  if  she  had  been  a 
funeral. 

John  Kane  permitted  to  the  salutation  the 
full  time  due  to  it,  in  the  manner  of  one  who 

83 


Further    'Experiences  of  an  Irish  CB^M. 

counts  a  semibreve  rest,  while  the  cart  moved 
implacably  onwards.  The  exact,  the  psychic 
instant  arrived. 

"  Honomaundhiaoul  !  Sullivan  ! "  he  shouted, 
with  a  full-blown  burst  of  ferocity,  hurtling  down 
the  steps  in  pursuit,  "  will  ye  take  them  or  lave 
them?" 

To  manifest,  no  doubt,  her  complete  indiffer- 
ence to  the  issue,  Mrs.  Knox  turned  and  went 
into  the  house,  followed  by  the  majority  of  the 
hens,  and  left  me  to  await  my  cue.  The  play 
was  played  out  with  infinite  credit  to  both  artists, 
and  at  the  full  stretch  of  their  lungs  ;  at  the 
preordained  moment  I  intervened  with  the  con- 
ventional impromptu,  and  suggested  that  the 
difference  should  be  split*.  The  curtain  imme- 
diately fell,  and  somewhere  in  the  deep  of  the 
hall  a  glimpse  of  the  purple  bonnet  told  me 
that  Mrs.  Knox  was  in  the  auditorium. 

When  I  rejoined  her  I  found  Flurry  with  her, 
and  something  in  the  atmosphere  told  that  here 
also  was  storm. 

"Well,  take  them!  Take  them  all!"  Mrs. 
Knox  was  saying  in  high  indignation.  "  Take 
Mullins  and  the  maids  if  you  like !  I  daresay 
they  might  be  more  use  than  the  men!" 

"  They'll  make  more  row,  anyhow,"  said 
Flurry  sourly.     "  I   wonder  is  it  them  that  put 

84 


"  "The  Man  that  came  to  Buy  Apples " 

down  all  the  rabbit-traps  I'm  after  seeing  in  the 
coach-house  this  minute  ! " 

"It  may  be  they,  but  it  certainly  is  not  them" 
retorted  Mrs.  Knox,  hitting  flagrantly  below  the 
belt ;  "  and  if  you  want  beaters  found  for  you, 
you   should   give   me   more   than   five   minutes' 

warning "     She  turned  with  the  last  word, 

and  moved  towards  the  staircase. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am,"  said  John 
Kane,  very  respectfully,  from  the  hall  door, 
"  that  Sullivan  brought  this  down  for  your 
Honour." 

He  placed  on  the  table  a  bottle  imperfectly 
wrapped  in  newspaper. 

'*  Tell  Sullivan,"  said  Flurry,  without  an  in- 
stant's hesitation,  "  that  he  makes  the  worst 
potheen  in  the  country,  and  I'll  prosecute  him 
for  bringing  it  here,  unless  he  comes  out  to 
beat  with  the  rest  of  you." 

Remembering  my  official  position,  I  discreetly 
examined  the  barrels  of  my  gun. 

"  You'll  give  him  no  such  message  ! "  screamed 
Mrs.  Knox  over  the  dark  rail  of  the  staircase. 
"  Let  him  take  himself  and  his  apples  off  out  of 
this ! "  Then,  in  the  same  breath,  and  almost 
the  same  key,  "  Major  Yeates,  which  do  you 
prefer,  curry,  or  Irish  stew?" 

The  cuisine  at  Aussolas  was  always  fraught 

85 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.M. 

with  dark  possibilities,  being  alternately  pre- 
sided over  by  bibulous  veterans  from  Dublin, 
or  aboriginal  kitchenmaids  off  the  estate.  Feel- 
ing as  Fair  Rosamond  might  have  felt  when 
proffered  the  dagger  or  the  bowl,  I  selected 
curry. 

"  Then  curry  it  shall  be,"  said  Mrs.  Knox, 
with  a  sudden  and  awful  affability.  In  this 
gleam  of  stormy  sunshine  I  thought  it  well  to 
withdraw. 

"  Did  you  ever  eat  my  grandmother's  curry  ?  " 
said  Flurry  to  me,  later,  as  we  watched  Bernard 
Shute  trying  to  back  his  motor  into  the  coach- 
house. 

I  said  I  thought  not. 

"  Well,  you'd  take  a  splint  off  a  horse  with  it," 
said  Mrs.  Knox's  grandson. 

The  Aussolas  woods  were  full  of  birds  that  day. 
Birds  bursting  out  of  holly  bushes  like  corks  out 
of  soda-water  bottles,  skimming  low  under  the 
branches  of  fir  trees,  bolting  across  rides  at  a 
thousand  miles  an  hour,  swinging  away  through 
prohibitive  tree  tops,  but  to  me  had  befallen  the 
inscrutable  and  invincible  accident  of  being  "off 
my  day,"  and,  by  an  equal  unkindness,  Fate 
had  allotted  to  me  the  station  next  Flurry. 
Every  kind  of  bird  came  my  way  except  the 
easy  ones,  and,  as  a  general  thing,  when  I  had 

86 


"  The  Man  that  came  to  Buy  Apples " 

done  no  more  than  add  a  little  pace  to  their 
flight,  they  went  down  to  Flurry,  who  never  in  my 
experience  had  been  off  his  day,  and  they  seldom 
went  farther  afield.  The  beaters,  sportsmen  every 
man  of  them,  had  a  royal  time.  They  flailed 
the  bushes  and  whacked  the  tree  trunks  ;  the  dis- 
cordant chorus  of  "  Hi  cock  !  Hi  cock !  Cock  ! 
Cock !  Prrrr ! "  rioted  through  the  peaceful 
woods,  and  every  other  minute  a  yell  of  "  Mark ! " 
broke  like  a  squib  through  the  din.  The  clamour, 
the  banging  of  the  guns,  and  the  expectancy, 
kept  the  nerves  tingling  ;  the  sky  between  the 
grey  branches  was  as  blue  as  Italy's  ;  despite 
fingers  as  icy  as  the  gun  -  barrels,  despite  the 
speechless  reproach  of  Maria,  slinking  at  my  heels 
in  unemployed  dejection,  I  enjoyed  every  breath 
of  the  frosty  day.  After  all,  hit  or  miss,  a  good 
day  with  the  cock  comes  very  near  a  good  day 
with  the  hounds,  without  taking  into  consideration 
the  comfortable  fact  that  in  the  former  the  risk  is 
all  on  the  side  of  the  birds. 

Little  Bosanquet,  the  captain  of  coastguards, 
on  my  left,  was  doing  remarkably  well,  so  ap- 
parently, was  Murray  the  D.I.  of  Police;  how 
Bernard  Shute  was  faring  I  knew  not,  but  he  was 
certainly  burning  a  lot  of  powder.  At  the  end 
of  the  third  beat  I  found  myself  beside  Murray. 
His  face  was  redder  than  usual,  even  his  freckles 

87 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

conveyed  an  impression  of  impartially  sprinkled 
cayenne  pepper. 

"  Did  you  see  Shute  just  now  ?  "  he  demanded 
in  a  ferocious  whisper.  "  A  bird  got  up  between 
us,  and  he  blazed  straight  at  me !  Straight  bang 
in  my  face,  I  tell  you !  Only  that  I  was  in  a  dead 
line  with  the  bird  he'd  have  got  me ! " 

"  I  suppose  that  was  about  the  safest  place," 
I  said.     "  What  did  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  simply  told  him  that  if  ever  he  puts  a  grain 
into  me  I  shall  let  him  have  it  back,  both  barrels." 

"  Every  one  says  that  to  Bernard  sooner  or 
later,"  said  I,  pacifically;  "he'll  settle  down  after 
lunch." 

"  We'll  all  settle  down  into  our  graves," 
grumbled  Murray  ;  "  that'll  be  the  end  of  it." 

After  this  it  was  scarcely  composing  to  a  hus- 
band and  father  to  find  Mr.  Shute  occupying  the 
position  on  my  right  hand  as  we  embarked  upon 
the  last  beat  of  the  Middle  Wood.  He  was  still 
distinctly  unsettled,  and  most  distressingly  on  the 
alert.  Nothing  escaped  his  vigilance,  the  impos- 
sible wood  pigeon,  clattering  out  of  the  wrong  side 
of  a  fir  tree,  received  its  brace  of  cartridges  as  in- 
stantly as  the  palpable  rabbit,  fleeing  down  the 
ride  before  him,  and  with  an  equal  immunity. 
Between  my  desire  to  keep  the  thickest  tree 
trunks  between  me  and  him,  and  the  companion 

88 


"  The  Man  that  came  to  Buy  Apples " 

desire  that  he  should  be  thoroughly  aware  of  my 
whereabouts,  my  shooting,  during  that  beat,  went 
still  more  to  pieces  ;  a  puff  of  feathers,  wandering 
softly  down  through  the  radiant  air,  was  the  sum 
total  of  my  achievements. 

The  end  of  the  beat  brought  us  to  the  end  of 
the  wood,  and  out  upon  an  open  space  of  sedgy 
grass  and  bog  that  stretched  away  on  the  right 
to  the  shore  of  Aussolas  Lake;  opposite  to  us, 
a  couple  of  hundred  yards  away,  was  another  and 
smaller  wood,  clothing  one  side  of  a  high  promon- 
tory near  the  head  of  the  lake.  Flurry  and  I 
were  first  out  of  the  covert. 

"  We'll  have  time  to  run  through  the  Rhodo- 
dendron Wood  before  lunch,"  he  said,  looking  at 
his  watch.  "Here!  John  Kane!"  He  put  two 
fingers  in  his  mouth  and  projected  a  whistle  that 
cleft  my  head  like  a  scimitar. 

John  Kane  emerged,  nymph-like,  from  a  laurel 
bush  in  our  immediate  vicinity. 

"'Tis  only  lost  time  to  be  beating  them 
rosydandhrums,  Master  Flurry,"  he  said  volubly, 
"there  wasn't  a  bird  in  that  bit  o'  wood  this 
winter.  Not  a  week  passes  but  I'm  in  it,  making 
up  the  bounds  fence  against  the  cattle,  and  I 
never  seen  a  one!" 

u  You  might  be  more  apt  to  be  looking  out  for 
a  rabbit  than  a  cock,  John,"  said  Flurry  expres- 

89 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  I^M. 

sionlessly,  "  but  isn't  it  down  in  the  lower  pad- 
docks you  have  the  cattle  and  the  young  horses 
this  hard  weather  ?  3 

"  Oh  it  is,  sir,  it  is,  of  course,  but  indeed  it's 
hard  for  me  to  know  where  they  are,  with  the 
Misthress  telling  this  one  and  that  one  to  put 
them  in  their  choice  place.  Sure  she  dhrives  me 
to  and  fro  in  my  mind  till  I  do  have  a  headache 
from  her!" 

A  dull  rumble  came  to  us  across  the  marsh, 
and,  as  if  Mrs.  Knox  had  been  summoned  by  her 
henchman's  accusation,  there  laboured  into  view 
on  the  road  that  skirted  the  marsh  a  long  and 
dilapidated  equipage,  silhouetted,  with  its  solitary 
occupant,  against  the  dull  shine  of  the  frozen 
lake. 

"  Tally-ho !  Here  comes  the  curry  for  you, 
Major'  You'll  have  to  eat  it  I  tell  you!"  He 
paused,  "  I'm  dashed  if  she  hasn't  got  Sullivan's 
pony !     Well,  she'd  steal  the  horns  off  a  cow ! " 

It  was  indeed  the  grey  pony  that  paced  de- 
murely in  the  shafts  of  Mrs.  Knox's  phaeton,  and 
at  its  head  marched  Sullivan ;  fragments  of  loud 
and  apparently  agreeable  conversation  reached  us, 
as  the  procession  moved  onwards  to  the  usual 
luncheon  tryst  at  the  head  of  the  lake. 

"Come  now,  John  Kane,"  said  Flurry,  eyeing 
the  cortege,  "  you're  half  your  day  sitting  in  front 

90 


I 
u  The  Man  that  came  to  Buy  Apples " 

of  the  kitchen  fire.  How  many  of  my  rabbits 
went  into  that  curry  ?  * 

"  Rabbits,  Master  Flurry  ?  "  echoed  John  Kane 
almost  pityingly,  "  there's  no  call  for  them  trash 
in  Aussolas  kitchen !  And  if  we  wanted  them 
itself,  we'd  not  get  them.  I  declare  to  me  con- 
science there's  not  a  rabbit  in  Aussolas  demesne 
this  minute,  with  the  way  your  Honour  has  them 
ferreted — let  alone  the  foxes ! " 

"  I  suppose  it's  scarcely  worth  your  while  to  put 
the  traps  down,"  said  Flurry  benignly ;  "  that's 
why  they  were  in  the  coach-house  this  morning." 

There  was  an  undissembled  titter  from  a  group 
of  beaters  in  the  background ;  Flurry  tucked  his 
gun  under  his  arm  and  walked  on. 

"  It'd  be  no  more  than  a  charity  if  ye'd  eat  the 
lunch  now,  sir,"  urged  John  Kane  at  his  elbow, 
in  fluent  remonstrance,  "and  leave  Sullivan  go 
home.  Sure  it'll  be  black  night  on  him  before 
the  Misthress  will  be  done  with  him.  And  as  for 
that  wood,  it's  hardly  we  can  go  through  it  with 
the  threes  that's  down  since  the  night  of  the  Big 
Wind,  and  briars,  and  all  sorts.  Sure  the  last 
time  I  was  through  it  me  pants  was  in  shreds, 
and  I  was  that  tired  when  I  got  home  I  couldn't 
stoop  to  pick  a  herrin'  off  a  tongs,  and  as  for  the 
floods  and  the  holes  in  the  western  end — "  John 
Kane  drew  a  full  breath,  and  with  a  trawling 

91 


Further    'Experiences  of  an  Irish  CR<M. 

glance  gathered  Bernard  and  me  into  his  audience. 
"  I  declare  to  ye,  gintlemen,  me  boots  when  I 
took  them  off  was  more  than  boots !  They  re- 
simbled  the  mouth  of  a  hake !  " 

11  Ah,  shut  your  own  mouth,"  said  Flurry. 

The  big  rhododendron  was  one  of  the  glories 
of  Aussolas.  Its  original  progenitor  had  been 
planted  by  Flurry's  great-grandmother,  and  now, 
after  a  century  of  unchecked  license,  it  and  its 
descendants  ran  riot  among  the  pine  stems  on 
the  hillside  above  the  lake,  and,  in  June,  clothed 
a  precipitous  half  acre  with  infinite  varieties  of 
pale  mysterious  mauve.  The  farm  road  by  which 
Mrs.  Knox  had  traversed  the  marsh,  here  followed 
obediently  the  spurs  of  the  wood  and  creeks  of 
the  shore,  in  their  alternate  give  and  take.  From 
the  exalted  station  that  had  been  given  me  on  the 
brow  of  the  hill,  I  looked  down  on  it  between 
the  trunks  of  the  pine  trees,  and  saw,  instead  of 
mysterious  mauve  blossoms,  the  defiant  purple  of 
Mrs.  Knox's  bonnet,  glowing,  motionless,  in  a 
sheltered  and  sunny  angle  of  the  road  just  where 
it  met  the  wood.  She  was  drawn  up  in  her 
phaeton  with  her  back  to  a  tumble-down  erection 
of  stones  and  branches,  that  was  supposed  to  bar 
the  way  into  the  wood,  beside  her  was  the  great 
flat  boulder  that  had  for  generations  been  the 
table  for  shooting  lunches.     How,  in  any  area  of 

92 


"  The  Man  that  came  to  Buy  Apples " 

less  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  Sullivan  had  con- 
trived to  turn  the  phaeton,  was  known  only  to 
himself,  but  he  had  accomplished  it,  and  was  now 
adding  to  the  varied  and  unforeseen  occupations 
of  his  day  the  task  of  unpacking  the  luncheon 
basket.  As  I  waited  for  the  whistle  that  was  the 
signal  for  the  beat  to  begin,  I  viewed  the  pro- 
ceedings up  to  the  point  where  Sullivan,  now 
warming  artistically  to  his  work,  crowned  the 
arrangement  with  the  bottle  of  potheen. 

It  was  at  that  moment  that  I  espied  John 
Kane  break  from  a  rhododendron  bush  beside 
the  phaeton,  with  a  sack  over  his  shoulder. 
This,  as  far  as  I  could  see  through  the  branches, 
he  placed  upon  Mrs.  Knox's  lap,  the  invaluable 
Sullivan  hurrying  to  his  aid.  The  next  instant  I 
saw  Murray  arrive  and  take  up  his  allotted  station 
upon  the  road ;  John  Kane  retired  into  the  ever- 
green thicket  as  abruptly  as  he  had  emerged 
from  it,  Flurry's  whistle  sounded,  and  the  yells 
of  "  Hi  cock  "  began  again. 

We  moved  forward  very  slowly,  in  order  to 
keep  station  with  Murray,  who  had  to  follow  on 
the  road  the  outer  curve  of  the  wood,  while  we 
struck  straight  across  it.  It  was  a  wood  of  old 
and  starveling  trees,  strangled  by  ivy,  broken  by 
combat  with  each  other  in  the  storms  that  rushed 
upon  them  up  the  lake ;  it  was  two  years  since  I 

93 


Further    "Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.M. 

had  last  been  through  it,  and  I  remembered  well 
the  jungle  of  ferns  and  the  undergrowth  of  briars 
that  had  shredded  the  pants  of  John  Kane,  and 
had  held  in  their  thorny  depths  what  Flurry  had 
described  as  "a  dose  of  cock."  To-day  the 
wood  seemed  strangely  bare,  and  remarkably  out 
of  keeping  with  John  Kane's  impassioned  in- 
dictment ;  the  ferns,  even  the  bracken,  had  almost 
disappeared,  the  briar  brakes  were  broken  down, 
and  laced  with  black  paths,  and  in  the  frozen 
paste  of  dead  leaves  and  peat  mould  the  hoof- 
marks  of  cattle  and  horses  bore  witness  against 
them,  like  the  thumb-prints  of  a  criminal.  In  the 
first  ten  minutes  not  a  gun  had  been  let  off ;  I  an- 
ticipated pleasantly,  if  inadequately,  the  remarks 
that  Flurry  would  address  to  John  Kane  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  beat.  To  foreshadow  John 
Kane's  reply  to  Flurry  was  a  matter  less  simple. 
Bernard  Shute  was  again  the  next  gun  on  my 
left,  and  kept,  as  was  his  wont,  something  ahead 
of  his  due  place  in  the  line ;  of  this  I  did  not 
complain,  it  made  it  all  the  easier  to  keep  my  eye 
on  him.  The  idle  cartridges  in  his  gun  were 
obviously  intolerable  to  him  ;  as  he  crossed  a  little 
glade  he  discharged  both  barrels  into  the  firma- 
ment, where  far  above,  in  tense  flight  and  steady 
as  a  constellation,  moved  a  wedge  of  wild  geese. 
The  wedge  continued  its  course  unshaken,  but, 

94 


"  The  Man  that  came  to  Buy  Apples " 

as  if  lifted  by  the  bang,  the  first  woodcock  of  the 
beat  got  up  in  front  of  me,  and  swung  away  into 
the  rhododendrons.  "  Mark !  "  I  shouted,  loosing 
an  ineffectual  cartridge  after  him.  Mr.  Shute 
was  equal  to  the  occasion,  and  let  fly  his  usual 
postman's  knock  with  both  barrels.  In  instant  re- 
sponse there  arose  from  behind  the  rhododendrons 
the  bray  of  a  donkey,  fraught  with  outrage  and 
terror,  followed  by  crashing  of  branches  and  the 
thunderous  galloping  of  many  hoofs,  and  I  had  a 
glimpse  of  a  flying  party  of  cattle  and  horses, 
bursting  from  the  rhododendron  bushes  and  charg- 
ing down  a  grassy  slope  in  the  direction  of  the 
road.  Every  tail  was  in  the  air,  the  cattle 
bellowed,  and  the  donkey,  heading  the  flight, 
did  not  cease  to  proclaim  his  injuries. 

"How  many  of  them  have  you  hit?"  I 
shouted. 

"  I  believe  I  got  'em  all,  bar  the  cock ! "  re- 
turned Mr.  Shute,  with  ecstasy  scarcely  tempered 
by  horror. 

I  hastened  to  the  brow  of  the  hill,  and  thence 
beheld  Mrs.  Knox's  live  stock  precipitate  them- 
selves on  to  the  road,  and  turn  as  one  man  in  the 
direction  of  home.  With  a  promptitude  for  which 
I  have  never  been  given  sufficient  credit,  I  shoved 
my  gun  into  the  branches  of  a  tree  and  ran  back 
through  the  wood  at  my  best   pace.       In  that 

95 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CR^M. 

glimpse  of  the  route  I  had  recognised  the  stream- 
ing chestnut  mane  and  white  legs  of  the  venerable 
Trinket,  the  most  indomitable  old  rogue  that  had 
ever  reared  up  generations  of  foals  in  the  way 
they  should  not  go,  and  I  knew  by  repute  that 
once  she  was  set  going  it  would  take  more  to  stop 
her  than  the  half-demolished  barricade  at  the 
entrance  to  the  wood. 

As  I  ran  I  seemed  to  see  Trinket  and  her 
disciples  hurling  themselves  upon  Mrs.  Knox's 
phaeton  and  Sullivan's  pony,  with  what  results 
no  man  could  tell.  They  had,  however,  first  to 
circumnavigate  the  promontory ;  my  chance  was 
by  crossing  it  at  the  neck  to  get  to  the  phaeton 
before  them.  The  going  was  bad,  and  the  time 
was  short ;  I  went  for  all  I  was  worth,  and  Maria, 
mystified,  but  burning  with  zeal,  preceded  me  with 
kangaroo  leaps  and  loud  and  hysterical  barks. 
A  mor.sy  wall  ringed  the  verge  of  the  hill ;  I 
followed  Maria  over  it,  and  the  wall,  or  a  good 
part  of  it,  followed  me  down  the  hill.  I  plunged 
onward  amid  the  coiling  stems  and  branches  of 
the  big  rhododendrons,  an  illuminative  flash  of  the 
purple  bonnet  giving  me  my  bearings.  A  sort  of 
track  revealed  itself,  doubling  and  dodging  and 
dropping  down  rocky  slides,  as  if  in  flight  before 
me.  It  was  near  the  foot  of  the  hill  that  a  dead 
branch  extended  a  claw,  and  with  human  malignity 

96 


"  The  Man  that  came  to  Buy  Apples " 

plucked  the  eye-glass  from  my  eye  and  snapped 
the  cord :  the  eye-glass,  entering  into  the  spirit 
of  the  thing,  aimed  for  the  nearest  stone  and  hit 
it.  It  is  the  commonest  of  disasters  for  the  short- 
sighted, yet  custom  cannot  stale  it ;  I  made  the 
usual  comment,  with  the  usual  fervour  and 
futility,  and  continued  to  blunder  forward  in  all 
the  discomfort  of  half-sight.  The  trumpeting  of 
the  donkey  heralded  the  oncoming  of  the  stam- 
pede ;  I  broke  my  way  through  the  last  of  the 
rhododendrons  and  tumbled  out  on  to  the  road 
twenty  yards  ahead  of  the  phaeton. 

Sullivan's  pony  was  on  its  hind  legs,  and  Sul- 
livan was  hanging  on  to  its  head.  Mrs.  Knox 
was  sitting  erect  in  the  phaeton  with  the  reins 
in  her  hand. 

"Get  out,  ma'am!  Get  out!"  Sullivan  was 
howling,  as  I  scrambled  to  my  feet. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool!"  replied  Mrs.  Knox,  with- 
out moving. 

The  stampede  was  by  this  time  confronted  by 
the  barrier.  There  was  not,  however,  a  moment 
of  hesitation  ;  Trinket  came  rocketing  out  over 
it  as  if  her  years  were  four,  instead  of  four-and- 
twenty  ;  she  landed  with  her  white  nose  nearly 
in  the  back  seat  of  the  phaeton,  got  past  with  a 
swerve  and  a  slip  up,  and  went  away  for  her  stable 
with  her  tail  over  her  back,  followed  with  stag- 

97  G 


Further   "Experiences  of  an  Irish  CR^M. 

like  agility  by  her  last  foal,  her  last  foal  but  one, 
and  the  donkey,  with  the  young  cattle  hard  on 
their  flying  heels.  Bernard,  it  was  very  evident, 
had  peppered  them  impartially  all  round.  Sulli- 
van's pony  was  alternately  ramping  heraldically, 
and  wriggling  like  an  eel  in  the  clutches  of  Sulli- 
van, and  I  found  myself  snatching  blindly  at  what- 
ever came  to  my  hand  of  his  headstall.  What 
I  caught  was  a  mingled  handful  of  forelock  and 
browband  ;  the  pony  twitched  back  his  head  with 
the  cunning  that  is  innate  in  ponies,  and  the  head- 
stall, which  was  a  good  two  sizes  too  large,  slid 
over  its  ears  as  though  they  had  been  buttered, 
and  remained,  bit  and  all,  in  my  hand.  There 
was  a  moment  of  struggle,  in  which  Sullivan 
made  a  creditable  effort  to  get  the  pony's  head 
into  chancery  under  his  arm  ;  foreseeing  the  issue, 
I  made  for  the  old  lady,  with  the  intention  of 
dragging  her  from  the  carriage.  She  was  at  the 
side  furthest  from  me,  and  I  got  one  foot  into  the 
phaeton  and  grasped  at  her. 

At  that  precise  moment  the  pony  broke  away, 
with  a  jerk  that  pitched  me  on  to  my  knees  on  the 
mat  at  her  feet.  Simultaneously  I  was  aware  of 
Sullivan,  at  the  opposite  side,  catching  Mrs.  Knox 
to  his  bosom  as  the  phaeton  whirled  past  him, 
while  I,  as  sole  occupant,  wallowed  prone  upon 
a  heap  of  rugs.     That  ancient  vehicle  banged  in 

98 


"  The  Man  that  came  to  Buy  Apples " 

and  out  of  the  ruts  with  an  agility  that  ill  befitted 
its  years,  while,  with  extreme  caution,  and  the  aid 
of  the  side  rail,  I  gained  the  seat  vacated  by  Mrs. 
Knox,  and  holding  on  there  as  best  I  could,  was 
aware  that  I  was  being  seriously  run  away  with 
by  the  apple-man's  pony,  on  whom  my  own  disas- 
trous hand  had  bestowed  his  freedom. 

The  flying  gang  in  front,  enlivened  no  doubt 
by  the  noise  in  their  rear,  maintained  a  stimulat- 
ing lead.  We  were  now  clear  of  the  wood,  and 
the  frozen  ditches  of  the  causeway  awaited  me  on 
either  side  in  steely  parallel  lines ;  out  in  the  open 
the  frost  had  turned  the  ruts  to  iron,  and  it  was 
here  that  the  phaeton,  entering  into  the  spirit 
of  the  thing,  began  to  throw  out  ballast.  The 
cushions  of  the  front  seat  were  the  first  to  go, 
followed,  with  a  bomb-like  crash,  by  a  stone  hot- 
water  jar,  that  had  lurked  in  the  deeps  of  the 
rugs.  It  was  in  negotiating  a  stiffish  outcrop  of 
rock  in  the  track  that  the  back  seat  broke  loose 
and  fell  to  earth  with  a  hollow  thump ;  with  a 
corresponding  thump  I  returned  to  my  seat  from 
a  considerable  altitude,  and  found  that  in  the  in- 
terval the  cushion  had  removed  itself  from  beneath 
me,  and  followed  its  fellows  overboard.  Near  the 
end  of  the  causeway  we  were  into  Trinket's  rear- 
guard, one  of  whom,  a  bouncing  young  heifer, 
slammed  a  kick  into  the  pony's  ribs  as  he  drew 

99 


Further    "Experiences  of  an  Irish  CRCM. 

level  with  her,  partly  as  a  witticism,  partly  as  a 
token  of  contempt.  With  that  the  end  came. 
The  pony  wrenched  to  the  left,  the  off  front 
wheel  jammed  in  a  rut,  came  off,  and  the  phaeton 
rose  like  a  live  thing  beneath  me  and  bucked  me 
out  on  to  the  road. 

A  succession  of  crashes  told  that  the  pony  was 
making  short  work  of  the  dash-board  ;  for  my 
part,  I  lay  something  stunned,  and  with  a  twisted 
ankle,  on  the  crisp  whitened  grass  of  the  cause- 
way, and  wondered  dully  why  I  was  surrounded 
by  dead  rabbits. 

By  the  time  I  had  pulled  myself  together  Sul- 
livan's pony  was  continuing  his  career,  accom- 
panied by  a  fair  proportion  of  the  phaeton,  and  on 
the  road  lay  an  inexplicable  sack,  with  a  rabbit, 
like  Benjamin's  cup,  in  its  mouth. 

Not  less  inexplicable  was  the  appearance  of 
Minx,  my  wife's  fox-terrier,  whom  I  had  last  seen 
in  an  arm-chair  by  the  drawing-room  fire  at 
Shreelane,  and  now,  in  the  r61e  of  the  faithful 
St.  Bernard,  was  licking  my  face  lavishly  and 
disgustingly.  Her  attentions  had  the  traditional 
reviving  effect.  I  sat  up  and  dashed  her  from 
me,  and  in  so  doing  beheld  my  wife  in  the  act  of 
taking  refuge  in  the  frozen  ditch,  as  the  cavalcade 
swept  past,  the  phaeton  and  pony  bringing  up  the 
rear  like  artillery. 

IOO 


"  the  Man  that  came  to  Buy  Apples " 

"What  has  happened?  Are  you  hurt?"  she 
panted,  speeding  to  me. 

"  I  am ;  very  much  hurt,"  I  said,  with  what 
was,  I  think,  justifiable  ill  -  temper,  as  I  got 
gingerly  on  to  my  feet,  almost  annoyed  to  find 
that  my  leg  was  not  broken. 

"  But,  dearest  Sinclair,  has  he  shot  you  ?  I 
got  so  frightened  about  you  that  I  bicycled  over 
to—  Ugh !  Good  gracious  !  " — as  she  trod  on 
and  into  a  mound  of  rabbits — "what  are  you 
doing  with  all  these  horrible  things  ?  " 

I  looked  back  in  the  direction  from  which  I 
had  come,  and  saw  Mrs.  Knox  advancing  along 
the  causeway  arm-in-arm  with  the  now  inevitable 
Sullivan  (who,  it  may  not  be  out  of  place  to  re- 
mind the  reader,  had  come  to  Aussolas  early  in 
the  morning,  with  the  pure  and  single  intention 
of  buying  apples).  In  Mrs.  Knox's  disengaged 
arm  was  something  that  I  discerned  to  be  the 
bottle  of  potheen,  and  I  instantly  resolved  to 
minimise  the  extent  of  my  injuries.  Flurry,  and 
various  items  of  the  shooting  party,  were  con- 
verging upon  us  from  the  wood  by  as  many  and 
various  short  cuts.  "  I  don't  quite  know  what  I 
am  doing  with  the  rabbits,"  I  replied,  "  but  I 
rather  think  I'm  giving  them  away." 

As  I  spoke  something  darted  past  Mrs.  Knox, 
something  that  looked  like  a  bundle  of  rags  in 

IOI 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

a  cyclone,  but  was,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  my  faith- 
ful water-spaniel,  Maria.  She  came  on  in  zig-zag 
bounds,  in  short  maniac  rushes.  Twice  she  flung 
herself  by  the  roadside  and  rolled,  driving  her 
snout  into  the  ground  like  the  coulter  of  a  plough. 
Her  eyes  were  starting  from  her  head,  her  tail  was 
tucked  between  her  legs.  She  bit,  and  tore  franti- 
cally with  her  claws  at  the  solid  ice  of  a  puddle. 

"  She's  mad  !  She's  gone  mad !  "  exclaimed 
Philippa,  snatching  up  as  a  weapon  something 
that  looked  like  a  frying-pan,  but  was,  I  believe, 
the  step  of  the  phaeton. 

Maria  was  by  this  time  near  enough  for  me  to 
discern  a  canary-coloured  substance  masking  her 
muzzle. 

"Yes,  she's  quite  mad,"  I  replied,  possessed 
by  a  spirit  of  divination.  "  She's  been  eating 
the  rabbit  curry." 


C  >  -"' ' 


1 02 


V 

A   CONSPIRACY  OF   SILENCE 

It  has  not  often  been  my  lot  to  be  associated 
with  a  being  of  so  profound  and  rooted  a  pessim- 
ism as  Michael  Leary,  Huntsman  and  Kennel- 
man  to  Mr.  Flurry  Knox's  Fox-hounds.  His 
attitude  was  that  of  the  one  and  only  righteous 
man  in  a  perfidious  and  dissolute  world.  With, 
perhaps,  the  exception  of  Flurry  Knox,  he  be- 
lieved in  no  one  save  himself.  I  was  thoroughly 
aware  of  my  inadequacy  as  Deputy-Master,  and 
cherished  only  a  hope  that  Michael  might  look 
upon  me  as  a  kind  of  Parsifal,  a  fool  perhaps, 
yet  at  least  a  "  blameless  fool " ;  but  during 
my  time  of  office  there  were  many  distressing 
moments  in  which  I  was  made  to  feel  not  only 
incapable,  but  culpable. 

Michael  was  small,  sandy,  green-eyed,  freckled, 
and,  I  believe,  considerably  junior  to  myself;  he 
neither  drank  nor  smoked,  and  he  had  a  blister- 
ing tongue.  I  have  never  tried  more  sincerely 
to  earn  any  one's  good  opinion. 

It  was  a  pleasant  afternoon  towards  the  middle 
103 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.M. 

of  December,  and  I  was  paying  my  customary 
Sunday  visit  to  the  kennels  to  see  the  hounds 
fed.  What  Michael  called  "the  Throch"  was 
nearly  empty ;  the  greedier  of  the  hounds  were 
flitting  from  place  to  place  in  the  line,  in  the 
undying  belief  that  others  were  better  off  than 
they.  I  was  studying  the  row  of  parti-coloured 
backs,  and  trying  for  the  fiftieth  time  to  fit  each 
with  its  name,  when  I  was  aware  of  a  most 
respectable  face,  with  grey  whiskers,  regarding 
me  from  between  the  bars  of  the  kennel  door. 

With  an  effort  not  inferior  to  that  with  which 
I  had  just  discriminated  between  Guardsman  and 
General,  I  recognised  my  visitor  as  Mr.  Jeremiah 
Flynn,  a  farmer,  and  a  cattle  dealer  on  a  large 
scale,  with  whom  I  had  occasionally  done  busi- 
ness in  a  humble  way.  He  was  a  District 
Councillor,  and  a  man  of  substance ;  he  lived 
twenty  miles  away,  at  a  place  on  the  coast  called 
Knockeenbwee,  in  a  flat -faced,  two-storeyed 
house  of  the  usual  type  of  hideousness.  Once, 
when  an  unkind  fate  had  sent  me  to  that  region, 
I  had  heard  the  incongruous  tinkle  of  a  piano 
proceeding  from  Mr.  Flynn's  mansion,  as  I  drove 
past  fighting  an  umbrella  against  the  wet  wind 
that  swept  in  from  the  Atlantic. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Major  Yeates,"  began 
Mr.   Flynn,   with   an   agreeable    smile,   which   I 

104 


*A  Conspiracy  of  Silence 

saw  in  sections  between  the  bars  ;  "I  had  a 
little  business  over  this  side  of  the  country,  and 
I  took  the  liberty  of  taking  a  stroll  around  to 
the  kennels  to  see  the  hounds." 

I  made  haste  to  extend  the  hospitality  of  the 
feeding-yard  to  my  visitor,  who  accepted  it  with 
equal  alacrity,  and  went  on  to  remark  that  it  was 
wonderful  weather  for  the  time  of  year.  Having 
obeyed  this  primary  instinct  of  mankind,  Mr. 
Flynn  embarked  upon  large  yet  able  compliments 
on  the  appearance  of  the  hounds.  His  manners 
were  excellent ;  sufficiently  robust  to  accord  with 
his  grey  frieze  coat  and  flat-topped  felt  hat,  and 
with  just  the  extra  touch  of  deference  that 
expressed  his  respect  for  my  high  qualities  and 
position. 

"  Ye  have  them  in  great  form,  Michael,"  he 
remarked,  surveying  the  hounds'  bloated  sides 
with  a  knowledgeable  eye  ;  "and  upon  me  word, 
there's  our  own  poor  Playboy!  and  a  fine  dog 
he  is  too ! " 

"He  is;  and  a  fine  dog  to  hunt  rabbits!" 
said  Michael,  without  a  relaxation  of  his  drab 
countenance. 

"  I  daresay,  Major,  you  didn't  know  that  it  was 
in  my  place  that  fellow  was  rared  ? "  continued 
Mr.  Flynn. 

Owing  to  his  providentially  distinctive  colour- 
105 


"YE   HAVE  THEM   IN   GREAT   FORM,    MICHAEL" 


sA  Conspiracy  of  Silence 

ing  of  lemon  and  white,  Playboy  was  one  of  the 
hounds  about  whose  identity  I  was  never  in 
doubt.  I  was  able  to  bestow  a  suitable  glance 
upon  him,  and  to  recall  the  fact  of  his  hav- 
ing come  from  a  trencher-fed  pack,  of  which 
Mr.  Flynn  was  the  ruling  spirit,  kept  by  the 
farmers  in  the  wildernesses  beyond  and  around 
Knockeenbwee. 

"Ah!  Mr.  Knox  was  too  smart  for  us  over 
that  hound ! "  pursued  Mr.  Flynn  pleasantly ; 
"there  was  a  small  difference  between  himself 
and  meself  in  a  matter  of  a  few  heifers  I  was 
buying  off  him — a  thrifle  of  fifteen  shillings  it 
was,  I  believe " 

"  Five  and  thirty,"  said  Michael  to  the  lash  of 
his  thong,  in  which  he  was  making  a  knot. 

"  And  I  had  to  give  him  the  pup  before  we 
could  come  to  terms,"  ended  my  visitor. 

Whether  at  fifteen  or  thirty-five  shillings  Play- 
boy had  been  a  cheap  hound.  Brief,  and  chiefly 
ornamental,  as  my  term  of  office  had  been,  I  had 
learnt  to  know  his  voice  in  covert,  and  had 
learned  also  to  act  upon  it  in  moments  of  solitary 
and  helpless  ignorance  as  to  what  was  happening. 
This,  however,  was  not  the  moment  to  sing  his 
praises ;  I  preserved  a  careful  silence. 

"  I  rared  himself  and  his  sister,"  said  Mr. 
Flynn,  patting  Playboy  heavily,  "but  the  sister 

107 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CB^M. 

died  on  me.  I  think  'twas  from  all  she  fretted 
after  the  brother  when  he  went,  and  'twas  a  pity. 
Those  two  had  the  old  Irish  breed  in  them ;  sure 
you'd  know  it  by  the  colour,  and  there's  no  more 
of  them  now  in  the  country  only  the  mother,  and 
she  had  a  right  to  be  shot  this  long  time." 

"  Come  hounds,"  said  Michael,  interrupting 
this  rhapsody,  "open  the  door,   Bat." 

The  pack  swept  out  of  the  feeding-yard  and 
were  away  on  their  wonted  constitutional  in  half 
a  minute. 

"Grand  training,  grand  training!"  said  Mr. 
Flynn  admiringly,  "they're  a  credit  to  you, 
Major!  It's  impossible  to  have  hounds  any- 
way disciplined  running  wild  through  the  coun- 
try the  way  our  little  pack  is.  Indeed  it  came 
into  my  mind  on  the  way  here  to  try  could  I 
coax  you  to  come  over  and  give  us  a  day's 
hunting.  We're  destroyed  with  foxes.  Such 
marauding  I  never  saw!  As  for  turkeys  and 
fowl,  they're  tired  of  them,  and  it's  my  lambs 
they'll  be  after  next ! " 

The  moment  of  large  and  general  acquiescence 
in  Mr.  Flynn's  proposal  narrowed  itself  by  im- 
perceptible degrees  to  the  moment,  not  properly 
realised  till  it  arrived,  the  horrid  moment  of 
getting  up  at  a  quarter  to  seven  on  a  December 

1 08 


sA  Conspiracy  of  Silence 

morning,  in  order  to  catch  the  early  train  for 
Knockeenbwee. 

In  the  belief  that  I  was  acting  in  the  interest 
of  sport  I  had  announced  at  the  last  meet  that 
there  was  to  be  a  by-day  at  Knockeenbwee.  To 
say  that  the  fact  was  received  without  enthusiasm 
is  to  put  it  mildly.  I  was  assured  by  one 
authority  that  I  should  have  to  hunt  the  hounds 
from  a  steam  launch  ;  another,  more  sympathetic, 
promised  a  drag,  but  tempered  the  encourage- 
ment by  saying  that  the  walls  there  were  all 
made  of  slates,  and  that  by  the  end  of  the  run 
the  skin  would  be  hanging  off  the  horses'  legs 
like  the  skins  of  bananas.  Nothing  short  of  a 
heart-to-heart  appeal  to  my  Whip,  Dr.  Jerome 
Hickey,  induced  him  to  promise  his  support. 
Michael,  from  first  to  last,  remained  an  impene- 
trable thunder-cloud.  The  die,  however,  was 
cast,  and  the  hospitality  of  Mr.  Flynn  accepted. 
The  eve  of  the  by-day  arrived,  and  the  Thunder- 
cloud and  the  hounds  were  sent  on  by  road  to 
Knockeenbwee,  accompanied  by  my  ancient  ally 
Slipper,  who  led  my  mare,  and  rode  Philippa's 
pony,  which  had  been  commandeered  for  the 
occasion. 

Next  morning  at  9.45  a.m.  the  train  stopped 
by  signal  at  the  flag-station  of  Moyny,  a  cheer- 
less strip  of  platform,  from  which  a  dead  straight 

109 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  I^M. 

road  retreated  to  infinity  across  a  bog.  An  out 
side  car  was  being  backed  hard  into  the  wall  of 
the  road  by  a  long,  scared  rag  of  a  chestnut  horse 
as  Dr.  Hickey  and  I  emerged  from  the  station, 
and  its  driver  was  composing  its  anxieties  as  to 
the  nature  of  trains  by  beating  it  in  the  face  with 
his  whip.  This,  we  were  informed,  was  Mr. 
Flynn's  equipage,  and,  at  a  favourable  moment 
in  the  conflict,  Dr.  Hickey  and  I  mounted  it. 

"It's  seldom  the  thrain  stands  here,"  said  the 
driver  apologetically,  as  we  started  at  a  strong 
canter,  "and  this  one's  very  frightful  always." 

The  bog  ditches  fleeted  by  at  some  twelve 
miles  an  hour ;  they  were  the  softest,  blackest, 
and  deepest  that  I  have  ever  seen,  and  I  thanked 
heaven  that  I  was  not  in  my  red  coat. 

"  I  suppose  you  never  met  the  Miss  Flynns?" 
murmured  Dr.  Hickey  to  me  across  the  well  of 
the  car. 

I  replied  in  the  negative. 

"  Oh,  they're  very  grand,"  went  on  my  com- 
panion, with  a  wary  eye  on  the  humped  back  of 
the  driver,  "  I  believe  they  never  put  their  foot 
outside  the  door  unless  they're  going  to  Paris. 
Their  father  told  me  last  week  that  lords  in  the 
streets  of  Cork  were  asking  who  they  were." 

"  I  suppose  that  was  on  their  way  to  Paris," 
I  suggested. 

no 


aA  Conspiracy  of  Silence 

"  It  was  not,"  said  the  driver,  with  stunning 
unexpectedness,  "'twas  when  they  went  up  on 
th'excursion  last  month  for  to  have  their  teeth 
pulled.  G'wout  o'  that!"  This  to  the  horse, 
who  had  shied  heavily  at  a  goat. 

Dr.  Hickey  and  I  sank  into  a  stricken  silence, 
five  minutes  of  which,  at  the  pace  we  were 
travelling,  sufficed  to  bring  us  to  a  little  planta- 
tion, shorn  and  bent  by  the  Atlantic  wind,  low 
whitewashed  walls,  an  economical  sweep  of 
gravel,  and  an  entrance  gate  constructed  to  fit  an 
outside  car  to  an  inch.  From  the  moment  that 
these  came  within  the  range  of  vision  the  driver 
beat  the  horse  with  the  handle  of  his  whip,  a 
prelude,  as  we  discovered,  to  the  fact  that  a  minor 
gate,  obviously  and  invitingly  leading  to  the  yard, 
lolled  open  on  one  hinge  at  the  outset  of  the 
plantation.  There  was  a  brief  dissension,  followed 
by  a  hand  gallop  to  the  more  fitting  entrance  ; 
that  we  should  find  it  too  fitting  was  a  foregone 
conclusion,  and  Dr.  Hickey  whirled  his  legs  on 
to  the  seat  at  the  moment  when  impact  between 
his  side  of  the  car  and  the  gate  post  became  in- 
evitable. The  bang  that  followed  was  a  hearty 
one,  and  the  driver  transmitted  it  to  me  in  great 
perfection  with  his  elbow  as  he  lurched  on  to 
me ;  there  was  a  second  and  hollower  bang  as 
the   well    of   the    car,    detached    by   the    shock, 

in 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.Af. 

dropped  on  the  axle  and  turned  over,  flinging 
from  it  in  its  somersault  a  harlequinade  assort- 
ment of  herrings,  loaves  of  bread,  and  a  band  box. 
It  was,  I  think,  a  loaf  of  bread  that  hit  the  horse 
on  the  hocks,  but  under  all  the  circumstances  even 
a  herring  would  have  been  ample  excuse  for  the 
two  sledge  hammer  kicks  which  he  instantly 
administered  to  the  foot-board.  While  the  car 
still  hung  in  the  gateway,  a  donkey,  with  a  boy 
sitting  on  the  far  end  of  its  back,  was  suddenly 
mingled  with  the  episode.  The  boy  was  off  the 
donkey's  back  and  the  driver  was  off  mine  at 
apparently  one  and  the  same  moment,  and  the 
car  was  somehow  backed  off  the  pillar ;  as  we 
scraped  through  the  boy  said  something  to  the 
driver  in  a  brogue  that  was  a  shade  more  sophis- 
ticated than  the  peasant  tune.  It  seemed  to 
me  to  convey  the  facts  that  Miss  Lynie  was 
waiting  for  her  hat,  and  that  Maggie  Kane  was 
dancing  mad  for  the  soft  sugar.  We  proceeded 
to  the  house,  leaving  the  ground  strewn  with  what 
appeared  to  be  the  elemental  stage  of  a  picnic. 

"  I  suppose  you're  getting  him  into  form  for 
the  hunt,  Eugene?"  said  Dr.  Hickey,  as  the 
lathered  and  panting  chestnut  came  to  a  stand 
some  ten  yards  beyond  the  hall  door. 

"Well,  indeed,  we  thought  it  no  harm  to  loosen 
him  under  the  car  before  Master  Eddy  went  riding 

112 


<iA  Conspiracy  of  Silence 

him,"  replied  Eugene,  "and  begannies  I'm  not 
done  with  him  yet !  I  have  to  be  before  the  masther 
at  the  next  thrain." 

He  shed  us  and  our  belongings  on  the  steps, 
and  drove  away  at  a  gallop. 

The  meet  had  been  arranged  for  half-past 
eleven.  It  was  half-past  ten  when  Dr.  Hickey 
and  I  were  incarcerated  in  a  dungeon-cold  drawing- 
room  by  a  breathless  being  in  tennis  shoes,  with 
her  hair  down  her  back,  doubtless  Maggie  Kane, 
hot  from  the  war-dance  brought  on  by  the  lack 
of  soft  sugar.  She  told  us  in  a  gusty  whisper 
that  the  masther  would  be  in  shortly,  and  the 
ladies  was  coming  down,  and  left  us  to  meditate 
upon  our  surroundings. 

A  cascade  of  white  paper  flowed  glacially  from 
the  chimney  to  the  fender ;  the  gloom  was  Cim- 
merian, and  unalterable,  owing  to  the  fact  that 
the  blind  was  broken ;  the  cold  of  a  never  occu- 
pied room  ate  into  our  vitals.  Footsteps  pounded 
overhead  and  crept  in  the  hall.  The  house  was 
obviously  full  of  people,  but  no  one  came  near  us. 
Had  it  not  been  for  my  companion's  biographical 
comments  on  the  photographs  with  which  the 
room  was  decked,  all  of  them,  it  appeared,  suitors 
of  the  Misses  Flynn,  I  think  I  should  have  walked 
back  to  the  station.  At  eleven  o'clock  the  hurry- 
ing   feet    overhead    were   stilled,    there    was   a 

113  H 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  cRlCM. 

rustling  in  the  hall  as  of  a  stage  storm,  and  the 
daughters  of  the  house  made  their  entry,  wonder- 
fully attired  in  gowns  suggestive  of  a  theatre,  or 
a  tropical  garden  party,  and  in  picture  hats.  As 
I  viewed  the  miracles  of  hairdressing,  black  as 
the  raven's  wing,  the  necklaces,  the  bracelets, 
and  the  lavish  top-dressing  of  powder,  I  wildly 
wondered  if  Dr.  Hickey  and  I  should  not  have 
been  in  evening  clothes. 

We  fell  to  a  laboured  conversation,  conducted 
upon  the  highest  social  plane.  The  young  ladies 
rolled  their  black  eyes  under  arched  eyebrows, 
and  in  almost  unimpeachable  English  accents 
supposed  I  found  Ireland  very  dull.  They  asked 
me  if  I  often  went  to  the  London  Opera.  They 
declared  that  when  at  home,  music  was  their  only 
resource,  and  made  such  pointed  reference  to 
their  Italian  duetts  that  I  found  myself  trembling 
on  the  verge  of  asking  them  to  sing.  Dr. 
Hickey,  under  whose  wing  I  had  proposed  to 
shelter  myself,  remained  sardonically  aloof.  A 
blessed  diversion  was  created  by  the  entrance, 
at  racing  speed,  of  Maggie  Kane,  bearing  a  tray- 
ful  of  burning  sods  of  turf;  the  cascade  was  torn 
from  the  chimney,  and  the  tray  was  emptied  into 
the  grate.  Blinding  smoke  filled  the  room,  and 
Maggie  Kane  murmured  an  imprecation  upon 
"  jackdahs,"  their  nests,  and  all  their  works. 

114 


.c" 


^ 


A  TRAYFUL  OF  BURNING  SODS  OF  TURF 


zA  Conspiracy  of  Silence 

The  moment  seemed  propitious  for  escape  ;  I 
looked  at  my  watch,  and  said  that  if  they  would 
kindly  tell  me  the  way  to  the  yard  I  would  go 
round  and  see  about  things. 

The  arched  eyebrows  went  up  a  shade  higher  ; 
the  Misses  Flynn  said  they  feared  they  hardly 
knew  the  way  to  the  stables. 

Dr.  Hickey  rose.  "  Indeed  it  isn't  easy  to 
find  them,"  he  said,  "but  I  daresay  the  Major 
and  myself  will  be  able  to  make  them  out." 

When  we  got  outside  he  looked  down  his  long 
nose  at  me. 

"  Stables  indeed  !  "  he  said,  "  I  hate  that  dirty 
little  boasting ! " 

Mr.  Flynn's  yard  certainly  did  not  at  the  first 
glance  betray  -the  presence  of  stables.  It  con- 
sisted of  an  indeterminate  assembly  of  huts,  with 
a  long  corrugated  iron  shed  standing  gauntly  in 
the  midst ;  swamp  of  varying  depths  and  shades 
occupied  the  intervals.  From  the  shed  proceeded 
the  lamentable  and  indignant  clamours  of  the 
hounds,  against  its  door  leaned  Michael  in  his 
red  coat,  enacting,  obviously,  the  role  of  a  righteous 
man  constrained  to  have  his  habitation  in  the 
tents  of  Kedar.  A  reverential  knot  of  boys 
admired  him  from  the  wall  of  a  neighbouring 
pigsty ;  countrymen  of  all  ages,  each  armed  with 
a  stick  and  shadowed  by  a  cur,   more  or  less 

"5 


Further   "Experiences  of  an  Irish  CR<M. 

resembling  a  fox-hound,  stood  about  in  patient 
groups ;  two  or  three  dejected  horses  were  nib- 
bling, unattended,  at  a  hayrick.  Of  our  host 
there  was  no  sign. 

At  the  door  of  the  largest  hut  Slipper  was 
standing. 

"Come  in  and  see  the  mare,  Major,"  he  called 
to  me  in  his  bantam-cock  voice  as  I  approached. 
"  Last  night  when  we  got  in  she  was  clean  dead 
altogether,  but  this  morning  when  I  was  giving 
the  feed  to  the  pony  she  retched  out  her  neck 
and  met  her  teeth  in  me  poll !  Oh,  she's  in  great 
heart  now  1 " 

In  confirmation  of  this  statement  a  shrewish 
squeal  from  Lady  Jane  proceeded  from  the 
interior. 

"  Sure  I  slep'  in  the  straw  last  night  with  her- 
self and  the  pony.  She'd  have  him  ate  this 
morning  only  for  me." 

The  record  of  his  devotion  was  here  interrupted 
by  a  tremendous  rattling  in  the  farm  lane ;  it 
heralded  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Flynn  on  his  outside 
car,  drawn  at  full  gallop  by  the  young  chestnut 
horse. 

"Oh,  look  at  me,  Major,  how  late  I  am!" 
shouted  Mr.  Flynn  jovially,  as  he  scrambled  off 
the  car.  "  I  declare  you  could  light  a  candle  at 
me  eye  with  the  shame  that's  in  it,  as  they  say ! 

116 


zA  Conspiracy  of  Silence 

I  was  back  in  Curranhilty  last  night  buying  stock, 
and  this  was  the  first  train  I  could  get.  Well, 
well,  the  day's  long  and  drink's  plenty ! " 

He  bundled  into  a  darksome  hole,  and  emerged 
with  a  pair  of  dirty  spurs  and  a  Malacca  crop  as 
heavy  as  a  spade  handle. 

"  Michael !  Did  they  tell  you  we  have  a  fox 
for  you  in  the  hill  north  ? " 

"  I  wasn't  speaking  to  any  of  them,"  replied 
Michael  coldly. 

"Well,  your  hounds  will  be  speaking  to  him 
soon !     Here,  hurry  boys,  pull  out  the  horses ! " 

His  eye  fell  on  the  chestnut,  upon  whose  reek- 
ing back  Eugene  was  cramming  a  saddle,  while 
the  boy  who  had  met  us  at  the  entrance  gate  was 
proffering  to  it  a  tin  basin  full  of  oats. 

"What  are  you  doing  with  the  young  horse?" 
he  roared. 

"  I  thought  Master  Eddy  would  ride  him,  sir," 
replied  Eugene. 

"Well,  he  will  not,"  said  Mr.  Flynn,  con- 
clusively ;  "  the  horse  has  enough  work  done, 
and  let  you  walk  him  about  easy  till  he's  cool. 
You  can  folly  the  hunt  then." 

Two  more  crestfallen  countenances  than  those 
of  the  young  gentlemen  he  addressed  it  has 
seldom  been  my  lot  to  see.  The  saddle  was 
slowly  removed.      Master  Eddy,  red  up  to  the 

117 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CR^M. 

roots  of  his  black  hair,  retired  silently  with  his 
basin  of  oats  into  the  stable  behind  Slipper. 
Even  had  I  not  seen  his  cuff  go  to  his  eyes  I 
should  have  realised  that  life  would  probably 
never  hold  for  him  a  bitterer  moment. 

The  hounds  were  already  surging  out  of  the 
yard  with  a  following  wave,  composed  of  every 
living  thing  in  sight.  As  I  took  Lady  Jane  from 
the  hand  of  Slipper,  Philippa's  pony  gave  a  snort. 
Some  touch  of  Philippa's  criminal  weakness  for 
boys  assailed  me. 

"  That  boy  can  ride  the  pony  if  he  likes,"  I 
said  to  Slipper. 

I  followed  the  hounds  and  their  cortege  down 
a  deep  and  filthy  lane.  Mr.  Flynn  was  just  in 
front  of  me,  on  a  broad-beamed  white  horse,  with 
string-halt ;  three  or  four  of  the  trencher-fed  aliens 
slunk  at  his  heels,  the  mouth  of  a  dingy  horn 
protruded  from  his  coat  pocket.  I  trembled  in 
spirit  as  I  thought  of  Michael. 

We  were  out  at  length  into  large  and  furzy 
spaces  that  slanted  steeply  to  the  cliffs ;  like 
smuts  streaming  out  of  a  chimney  the  followers 
of  the  hunt  belched  from  the  lane  and  spread 
themselves  over  the  pale  green  slopes.  From 
this  point  the  proceedings  became  merged  in 
total  incoherence.  Accompanied,  as  it  seemed, 
by  the  whole  population  of  the  district,  we  moved 

118 


zA  Conspiracy  of  Silence 

en  masse  along  the  top  of  the  cliffs,  while  hounds, 
curs,  and  boys  strove  and  scrambled  below  us,  over 
rocks  and  along  ledges,  which,  one  might  have 
thought,  would  have  tried  the  head  of  a  seagull. 
Two  successive  bursts  of  yelling  notified  the  cap- 
ture and  slaughter  of  two  rabbits  ;  in  the  first  hour 
and  a  half  I  can  recall  no  other  achievement. 

It  was,  however,  evident  that  hunting,  in  its 
stricter  sense,  was  looked  on  as  a  mere  species 
of  side  show  by  the  great  majority  of  the  field ; 
the  cream  of  the  entertainment  was  found  in 
the  negotiation  of  such  jumps  as  fell  to  the  lot 
of  the  riders.  These  were  neither  numerous  nor 
formidable,  but  the  storm  of  cheers  that  accom- 
panied each  performance  would  have  dignified 
the  win  of  a  Grand  National  favourite. 

To  Master  Eddy,  on  Philippa's  pony,  it  was 
apparent  that  the  birthday  of  his  life  had  come. 
Attended  by  Slipper  and  a  howling  company  of 
boon  companions,  he  and  the  pony  played  a 
glorified  game  of  pitch  and  toss,  in  which,  as  it 
seemed  to  me,  heads  never  turned  up.  It  cer- 
tainly was  an  adverse  circumstance  that  the 
pony's  mane  had,  the  day  before,  been  hogged 
to  the  bore,  so  that  at  critical  moments  the  rider 
slid,  unchecked,  from  saddle  to  ears,  but  the  boon 
companions,  who  themselves  jumped  like  ante- 
lopes, stride  for  stride  with  the  pony,  replaced 

119 


Further    "Experiences  of  an  Irish  I^M. 

him  unfailingly  with  timely  snatches  at  whatever 
portion  of  his  frame  first  offered  itself. 

Music,  even,  was  not  wanting  to  our  progress. 
A  lame  fiddler,  on  a  donkey,  followed  in  our  wake, 
filling  Michael's  cup  of  humiliation  to  the  brim, 
by  playing  jigs  during  our  frequent  moments  of 
inaction.  The  sun  pushed  its  way  out  of  the 
grey  sky,  the  sea  was  grey,  with  a  broad  and 
flashing  highway  to  the  horizon,  a  frayed  edge 
of  foam  tracked  the  broken  coast-line,  seagulls 
screamed  and  swooped,  and  the  grass  on  the  cliff 
summits  was  wondrous  green.  Old  Flynn,  on  his 
white  horse,  moving  along  the  verge,  and  bleat- 
ing shrilly  upon  his  horn  to  the  hounds  below, 
became  idyllic. 

I  believe  that  I  ought  to  have  been  in  a  tower- 
ing passion,  and  should  have  swept  the  hounds 
home  in  a  flood  of  blasphemy;  as  a  matter  of 
fact  I  enjoyed  myself.  Even  Dr.  Hickey  ad- 
mitted that  it  was  as  pleasant  a  day  for  smok- 
ing cigarettes  as  he  had  ever  been  out. 

It  must  have  been  nearly  three  o'clock  when 
one  of  Mr.  Flynn's  hounds,  a  venerable  lady  of 
lemon  and  white  complexion,  poked  her  lean  head 
through  furze-bushes  at  the  top  of  the  cliff,  and 
came  up  on  to  the  level  ground. 

"That's  old  Terrible,  Playboy's  mother,"  re- 
marked Dr.  Hickey,  "and  a  great  stamp  of  an 

1 20 


iA  Conspiracy  of  Silence 

old  hound  too,  but  she  can't  run  up  now.  Flynn 
tells  me  when  she's  beat  out  she'll  sit  down  and 
yowl  on  the  line,  she's  that  fond  of  it." 

Meantime  Terrible  was  becoming  busier  and 
looking  younger  every  moment,  as  she  zigzagged 
up  and  across  the  trampled  field  towards  the  hill- 
side. Dr.  Hickey  paused  in  the  lighting  of  what 
must  have  been  his  tenth  cigarette. 

"  If  we  were  in  a  Christian  country,"  he  said, 
"you'd  say  she  had  a  line " 

Old  Flynn  came  pounding  up  on  his  white 
horse,  and  rode  slowly  up  the  hill  behind  Terrible, 
who  silently  pursued  her  investigations.  Fifty  or 
sixty  yards  higher  up,  my  eye  lighted  on  some- 
thing that  might  have  been  a  rusty  can,  or  a  wisp 
of  bracken,  lying  on  the  sunny  side  of  a  bank. 
As  I  looked,  it  moved,  and  slid  away  over  the 
top  of  the  bank.  A  yell,  followed  by  a  frenzied 
tootling  on  Mr.  Flynn's  ancient  horn,  told  that  he 
had  seen  it  too,  and,  in  a  bedlam  of  shrieks,  chaos 
was  upon  us.  Through  an  inextricable  huddle 
of  foot  people  the  hounds  came  bursting  up  from 
the  cliffs,  fighting  every  foot  of  ground  with  the 
country-boys,  yelping  with  the  contagion  of  excite- 
ment, they  broke  through,  and  went  screaming 
up  the  hill  to  old  Terrible,  who  was  announcing 
her  find  in  deep  and  continuous  notes. 

How  Lady  Jane  got  over  the  first  bank  with- 

121 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CJR<M. 

out  trampling  Slipper  and  two  men  under  foot  is 
known  only  to  herself;  as  I  landed,  Master  Eddy 
and  the  pony  banged  heavily  into  me  from  the 
rear,  the  pony  having  once  and  for  all  resolved 
not  to  be  sundered  by  more  than  a  yard  from  his 
stable  companion  of  the  night  before.  I  can 
safely  say  that  I  have  never  seen  hounds  run 
faster  than  did  Mr.  Knox's  and  the  trencher-feds, 
in  that  brief  scurry  from  the  cliffs  at  Knockeen- 
bwee.  By  the  time  we  had  crossed  the  second 
fence  the  foot  people  were  gone,  like  things  in  a 
dream.  In  front  of  me  was  Michael,  and,  in  spite 
of  Michael's  spurs,  in  front  of  Michael  was  old 
Flynn,  holding  the  advantage  of  his  start  with  a 
most  admirable  jealousy.  The  white  horse  got 
over  the  ground  in  bucks  like  a  rabbit,  the  string- 
halt  lending  an  additional  fire  to  his  gait ;  on 
every  bank  his  great  white  hind-quarters  stood 
up  against  the  sky,  like  the  gable  end  of  a  chapel. 
Had  I  had  time  to  think  of  anything,  I  should 
have  repented  acutely  of  having  lent  Master  Eddy 
the  pony,  who  was  practically  running  away. 
Twice  I  replaced  his  rider  in  the  saddle  with  one 
hand,  as  he  landed  off  a  fence  under  my  stirrup. 
Master  Eddy  had  lost  his  cap  and  whip,  his  hair 
was  full  of  mud,  pure  ecstasy  stretched  his  grin  from 
ear  to  ear,  and  broke  from  him  in  giggles  of  delight. 
Providentially,  it  was,  as  I  have  said,  only  a 

122 


zA  Conspiracy  of  Silence 

scurry.     It  seemed  that  we  had  run  across  the 
neck  of  a  promontory,  and  in  ten  minutes  we 


*0&l&h*i 


PURE   ECSTASY  STRETCHED   HIS  GRIN   FROM    EAR   TO   EAR 

were  at  the  cliffs  again,  the  company  reduced  to 
old  Flynn,  his  son,  and  the  Hunt  establishment. 

123 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  I^M. 

Below  us  Moyny  Bay  was  spread  forth,  enclosing 
in  its  span  a  big  green  island  ;  between  us  and  the 
island  was  a  good  hundred  yards  of  mud,  plump- 
looking  mud,  with  channels  in  it.  Deep  in  this  the 
hounds  were  wading ;  some  of  them  were  already 
ashore  on  the  island,  struggling  over  black  rocks 
thatched  with  yellow  seaweed,  their  voices  coming 
faintly  back  to  us  against  the  wind.  The  white 
horse's  tail  was  working  like  a  fan,  and  we  were 
all,  horses  and  men,  blowing  hard  enough  to 
turn  a  windmill. 

11  That's  better  fun  than  to  be  eating  your 
dinner !  "  puffed  Mr.  Flynn,  purple  with  pride  and 
heat,  as  he  lowered  himself  from  the  saddle. 
11  There  isn't  a  hound  in  Ireland  would  take  that 
stale  line  up  from  the  cliff  only  old  Terrible !  " 

"What  will  we  do  now,  sir  ?  "  said  Michael  to 
me,  presenting  the  conundrum  with  colourless  calm, 
and  ignoring  the  coat-tail  trailed  for  his  benefit, 
"we'll  hardly  get  them  out  of  that  island  to-night." 

"I  suppose  you  know  you're  bare-footed, 
Major?"  put  in  Hickey,  my  other  Job's  com- 
forter, from  behind.  "Your  two  fore-shoes  are 
gone." 

A  December  day  is  not  good  for  much  after 
half-past  three.  For  half  an  hour  the  horns  of 
Michael  and  old  Flynn  blew  their  summons  anti- 
phonally  into  the   immensities  of  sea  and  sky, 

124 


iA  Conspiracy  of  Silence 

and  summoned  only  the  sunset,  and  after  it  the 
twilight ;  the  hounds  remained  unresponsive, 
invisible. 

"  There's  rabbits  enough  in  that  island  to  keep 
ten  packs  of  hounds  busy  for  a  month,"  said  Mr. 
Flynn ;  "  the  last  time  I  was  there  I  thought 
'twas  the  face  of  the  field  was  running  from  me. 
And  what  was  it  after  all  but  the  rabbits ! " 

"My  hounds  wouldn't  hunt  rabbits  if  they  were 
throwing  after  them,"  said  Michael  ferociously. 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  it's  admiring  the  view  they 
are ! "  riposted  Mr.  Flynn  ;  "  I  tell  ye  now,  Major, 
there's  a  man  on  the  strand  below  has  a  flat- 
bottomed  boat,  and  here's  Eugene  just  come  up, 
I'll  send  him  over  with  the  horn  as  soon  as  there's 
water  enough,  and  he'll  flog  them  out  of  it." 

The  tide  crept  slowly  in  over  the  mud,  and  a 
young  moon  was  sending  a  slender  streak  of  light 
along  it  through  the  dusk  before  Eugene  had 
accomplished  his  mission. 

The  boat  returned  at  last  across  the  channel 
with  a  precarious  cargo  of  three  hounds,  while 
the  rest  splashed  and  swam  after  her. 

"  I  have  them  all,  only  one,"  shouted  Eugene 
as  he  jumped  ashore,  and  came  scrambling  up  the 
steep  slants  and  shaley  ledges  of  the  cliff. 

"  I  hope  it  isn't  Terrible  ye  left  after  ye  ? " 
roared  Mr.  Flynn. 

125 


Further   "Experiences  of  an  Irish  C^M. 

"  Faith,  I  don't  know  which  is  it  it  is.  I  seen 
him  down  from  me  floating  in  the  tide.  It  must 
be  he  was  clifted..  I  think  'tis  one  of  Major 
Yeates's.     We  have  our  own  whatever." 

A  cold  feeling  ran  down  my  back.  Michael 
and  Hickey  silently  conned  over  the  pack  in  the 
growing  darkness,  striking  matches  and  shielding 
them  in  their  hands  as  they  told  off  one  hound 
after  another,  hemmed  in  by  an  eager  circle  of 
countrymen. 

"  It's  Playboy's  gone,"  said  Michael,  with  awful 
brevity.     "  I  suppose  we  may  go  home  now,  sir  ?  " 

"Ah!  hold  on,  hold  on,"  put  in  Mr.  Flynn, 
"are  ye  sure  now,  Eugene,  it  wasn't  a  sheep  ye 
saw  ?  I  wouldn't  wish  it  for  five  pounds  that  the 
Major  lost  a  hound  by  us." 

"  Did  ye  ever  see  a  sheep  with  yalla  spots  on 
her  ?  "  retorted  Eugene. 

A  shout  of  laughter  instantly  broke  from  the 
circle  of  sympathisers.  I  mounted  Lady  Jane  in 
gloomy  silence ;  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to 
face  the  long  homeward  road,  minus  Flurry  Knox's 
best  hound,  and  with  the  knowledge  that  while  I 
lived  this  day's  work  would  not  be  forgotten  to 
me  by  him,  by  Dr.  Hickey,  and  by  Michael. 

It  was  Hickey  who  reminded  me  that  I  was  also 
minus  two  fore-shoes,  and  that  it  was  an  eighteen 
mile  ride.     On  my  responding  irritably  that  I  was 

126 


*A  Conspiracy  of  Silence 

aware  of  both  facts,  and  would  get  the  mare  shod 
at  the  forge  by  the  station,  Mr.  Flynn,  whose 
voluble  and  unceasing  condolences  had  not  been 
the  least  of  my  crosses,  informed  me  that  the 
smith  had  gone  away  to  his  father-in-law's  wake, 
and  that  there  wasn't  another  forge  between  that 
and  Skebawn. 

The  steps  by  which  the  final  disposition  of 
events  was  arrived  at  need  not  here  be  recounted. 
It  need  only  be  said  that  every  star  went  out  of 
its  course  to  fight  against  me ;  even  the  special 
luminary  that  presided  over  the  Curranhilty  and 
Skebawn  branch  railway  was  hostile ;  I  was  told 
that  the  last  train  did  not  run  except  on  Satur- 
days. Therefore  it  was  that,  in  a  blend  of  match- 
light  and  moonlight,  a  telegram  was  written  to 
Philippa,  and,  at  the  hour  at  which  Dr.  Hickey, 
the  hounds,  and  Michael  were  nearing  their 
journey's  end,  I  was  seated  at  the  Knockeenbwee 
dinner-table,  tired,  thoroughly  annoyed,  devoured 
with  sleep,  and  laboriously  discoursing  of  London 
and  Paris  with  the  younger  Miss  Flynn. 

A  meal  that  had  opened  at  six  with  strong  tea, 
cold  mutton,  and  bottled  porter,  was  still,  at  eight 
o'clock,  in  slow  but  unceasing  progress,  suggest- 
ing successive  inspirations  on  the  part  of  the 
cook.  At  about  seven  we  had  had  mutton  chops 
and  potatoes,  and  now,  after  an  abysmal  interval 

127 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CE(CM. 

of  conversation,  we  were  faced  by  a  roast  goose 
and  a  rice  pudding  with  currants  in  it.  Through 
all  these  things  had  gone  the  heavy  sounds  and 
crashes  that  betokened  the  conversion  of  the 
drawing-room  into  a  sleeping-place  for  me. 
There  was,  it  appeared,  no  spare  room  in  the 
house  ;  I  felt  positively  abject  at  the  thought  of 
the  trouble  I  was  inflicting.  My  soul  abhorred  the 
roast  goose,  and  was  yet  conscious  that  the  only 
possible  acknowledgment  of  the  hospitality  that 
was  showered  upon  me,  was  to  eat  my  way  un- 
flinchingly through  all  that  was  put  upon  my  plate. 
It  must  have  been  nine  o'clock  before  we 
turned  our  backs  upon  the  pleasures  of  the  table, 
and  settled  down  to  hot  whisky-punch  over  a 
fierce  turf  fire.  Then  ensued  upon  my  part  one 
of  the  most  prolonged  death-grapples  with  sleep 
that  it  has  been  my  lot  to  endure.  The  con- 
versation of  Mr.  Flynn  and  his  daughters  passed 
into  my  brain  like  a  narcotic ;  after  circling 
heavily  round  various  fashionable  topics,  it  settled 
at  length  upon  croquet,  and  it  was  about  here 
that  I  began  to  slip  from  my  moorings  and  drift 
softly  towards  unconsciousness.  I  pulled  myself 
up  on  the  delicious  verge  of  a  dream  to  agree 
with  the  statement  that  "croquet  was  a  fright! 
You'd  boil  a  leg  of  mutton  while  you'd  be  waiting 
for  your  turn  ! " 

128 


zA  Conspiracy  of  Silence 

Following  on  this  came  a  period  of  oblivion, 
and  then  an  agonised  recovery.  Where  were  we  ? 
Thank  heaven,  we  were  still  at  the  croquet  party, 
and  Miss  Lynie's  narrative  was  continuing. 

"That  was  the  last  place  I  saw  Mary.  Oh, 
she  was  mad !  She  was  mad  with  me !  '  I  was 
born  a  lady,'  says  she,  '  and  I'll  die  a  lady ! '  I 
never  saw  her  after  that  day." 

Miss  Lynie,  with  an  elegantly  curved  little 
finger,  finished  her  wine-glass  of  toddy  and 
awaited  my  comment. 

I  was,  for  the  instant,  capable  only  of  blinking  like 
an  owl,  but  was  saved  from  disaster  by  Mr.  Flynn. 

"  Indeed  ye  had  no  loss,"  he  remarked.  "  She's 
like  a  cow  that  gives  a  good  pail  o'  milk  and 
spoils  all  by  putting  her  leg  in  it ! " 

I  said,  "Quite  so — exactly,"  while  the  fire,  old 
Flynn,  and  the  picture  of  a  Pope  over  the  chimney- 
piece,  swam  back  into  their  places  with  a  jerk. 

The  tale,  or  whatever  it  was,  wound  on.  Nod- 
ding heavily,  I  heard  how  "  Mary,"  at  some 
period  of  her  remarkable  career,  had  been  found 
"  bawling  in  the  kitchen "  because  Miss  Flynn 
had  refused  to  kiss  her  on  both  cheeks  when  she 
was  going  to  bed,  and  of  how,  on  that  repulse, 
Mary  had  said  that  Miss  Flynn  was  "squat.''  I 
am  thankful  to  say  that  I  retained  sufficient  con- 
trol of  my  faculties  to  laugh  ironically. 

129  I 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CR<M. 

I  think  the  story  must  then  have  merged  into 
a  description  of  some  sort  of  entertainment,  as  I 
distinctly  remember-  Miss  Lynie  saying  that  they 
"played  '  Lodging-houses' — it  was  young  Scully 
from  Ennis  made  us  do  it — a  very  vulgar  game  / 
call  it." 

"  I  don't  like  that  pullin'  an'  draggin',"  said 
Mr.  Flynn. 

•  I  did  not  feel  called  upon  to  intrude  my  opinion 
upon  the  remarkable  pastime  in  question,  and  the 
veils  of  sleep  once  more  swathed  me  irresistibly 
in  their  folds.  It  seemed  very  long  afterwards 
that  the  clang  of  a  fire-iron  pulled  me  up  with 
what  I  fear  must  have  been  an  audible  snort. 
Old  Flynn  was  standing  up  in  front  of  the  fire  ; 
he  had  obviously  reached  the  climax  of  a  narra- 
tive, he  awaited  my  comment. 

"  That — that  must  have  been  very  nice,"  I 
said  desperately. 

"  Nice  ! "  echoed  Mr.  Flynn,  and  his  astounded 
face  shocked  me  into  consciousness;  "sure  she 
might  have  burned  the  house  down ! " 

What  the  catastrophe  may  have  been  I  shall 
never  know,  nor  do  I  remember  how  I  shuffled 
out  of  the  difficulty ;  I  only  know  that  at  this 
point  I  abandoned  the  unequal  struggle,  and  asked 
if  I  might  go  to  bed. 

The   obligations   of  a   troublesome   and   self- 
130 


*A  Conspiracy  of  Silence 

inflicted  guest  seal  my  lips  as  to  the  expedients 
by  which  the  drawing-room  had  been  converted 
into  a  sleeping-place  for  me.  But  though  grati- 
tude may  enforce  silence,  it  could  not  enforce 
sleep.  The  paralysing  drowsiness  of  the  parlour 
deserted  me  at  the  hour  of  need.  The  noises  in 
the  kitchen  ceased,  old  Flynn  pounded  up  to  bed, 
the  voices  of  the  young  ladies  overhead  died 
away,  and  the  house  sank  into  stillness,  but  I 
grew  more  wakeful  every  moment.  I  heard  the 
creeping  and  scurrying  of  rats  in  the  walls,  I 
counted  every  tick,  and  cursed  every  quarter  told 
off  by  a  pragmatical  cuckoo  clock  in  the  hall.  By 
the  time  it  had  struck  twelve  I  was  on  the  verge 
of  attacking  it  with  the  poker. 

I  suppose  I  may  have  dozed  a  little,  but  I  was 
certainly  aware  that  a  long  track  of  time  had 
elapsed  since  it  had  struck  two,  when  a  faint  but 
regular  creaking  of  the  staircase  impressed  itself 
upon  my  ear.  It  was  followed  by  a  stealing  foot 
in  the  hall ;  a  hand  felt  over  the  door,  and  knocked 
very  softly.  I  sat  up  in  my  diminutive  stretcher- 
bed  and  asked  who  was  there.  The  handle  was 
turned,  and  a  voice  at  the  crack  of  the  door  said 
"  It's  me !  " 

Even  in  the  two  monosyllables  I  recognised 
the  accents  of  the  son  of  the  house. 

"I want  to  tell  you  something/'pursued  thevoice. 
'31 


Further   'Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^Af. 

I  instantly  surmised  all  possibilities  of  disaster ; 
Slipper  drunk  and  overlaid  by  Lady  Jane,  Phi- 
lippa's  pony  dead  from  over-exertion,  or  even  a 
further  instalment  of  the  evening  meal,  only  now 
arrived  at  completion. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  Is  anything  wrong  ?"  I 
demanded,  raising  myself  in  the  trough  of  the 
bed. 

"  There  is  not ;  but  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

I  had  by  this  time  found  the  matches,  and  my 
candle  revealed  Eddy  Flynn,  fully  dressed  save 
for  his  boots,  standing  in  the  doorway.  He 
crept  up  to  my  bedside  with  elaborate  stealth. 

II  Well,  what  is  it  ?"  I  asked,  attuning  my  voice 
to  a  conspirator's  whisper. 

u  Playboy's  above  stairs !  " 

"Playboy!"  I  repeated  incredulously,  "what 
do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Eugene  cot  him.  He's  above  in  Eugene's 
room  now,"  said  the  boy,  his  face  becoming  sud- 
denly scarlet. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  he  wasn't  killed  ? "  I 
demanded,  instantly  allocating  in  my  own  mind 
half  a  sovereign  to  Eugene. 

"  He  wasn't  in  the  island  at  all,"  faltered  Master 
Eddy,  "  Eugene  cot  him  below  on  the  cliffs  when 
the  hounds  went  down  in  it  at  the  first  go  off,  and 
he  hid  him  back  in  the  house  here." 

132 


zA  Conspiracy  of  Silence 

The  allotment  of  the  half-sovereign  was  abruptly 
cancelled. 

I  swallowed  my  emotions  with  some  difficulty. 

"  Well,"  I  said,  after  an  awkward  pause,  "I'm 
very  much  obliged  to  you  for  telling  me.  I'll  see 
your  father  about  it  in  the  morning." 

Master  Eddy  did  not  accept  this  as  a  dismissal. 
He  remained  motionless,  except  for  his  eyes  that 
sought  refuge  anywhere  but  on  my  face. 

There  was  a  silence  for  some  moments  ;  he  was 
almost  inaudible  as  he  said  : 

"It  would  be  better  for  ye  to  take  him  now, 
and  to  give  him  to  Slipper.  I'd  be  killed  if  they 
knew  I  let  on  he  was  here."  Then,  as  an  after- 
thought, "  Eugene's  gone  to  the  wake." 

The  inner  aspect  of  the  affair  began  to  reveal 
itself,  accompanied  by  a  singularly  unbecoming 
side  light  on  old  Flynn.  I  perceived  also  the 
useful  part  that  had  been  played  by  Philippa's 
pony,  but  it  did  not  alter  the  fact  that  Master 
Eddy  was  showing  his  gratitude  like  a  hero. 
The  situation  was,  however,  too  delicate  to  admit 
of  comment. 

"Very  well,"  I  said,  without  any  change  of 
expression,  "  will  you  bring  the  dog  down  to  me  ? " 

"  I  tried  to  bring  him  down  with  me,  but  he 
wouldn't  let  me  put  a  hand  on  him." 

I  hastily  got  into  the  few  garments  of  which  I 
133 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.M. 

had  not  divested  myself  before  getting  into  the 
misnamed  stretcher-bed,  aware  that  the  horrid 
task  was  before  me  of  burglariously  probing  the 
depths  of  Eugene's  bedroom,  and  acutely  un- 
certain as  to  Playboy's  reception  of  me. 

"  There's  a  light  above  in  the  room,"  said 
Master  Eddy,  with  a  dubious  glance  at  the 
candle  in  my  hand. 

I  put  it  down,  and  followed  him  into  the  dark  hall. 

I  have  seldom  done  a  more  preposterous  thing 
than  creep  up  old  Flynn's  stairs  in  the  small 
hours  of  the  morning,  in  illicit  search  for  my  own 
property ;  but,  given  the  dual  determination  to 
recover  Playboy,  and  to  shield  my  confederate,  I 
still  fail  to  see  that  I  could  have  acted  otherwise. 

We  reached  the  first  landing ;  it  vibrated  re- 
assuringly with  the  enormous  snores  of  Mr. 
Flynn.  Master  Eddy's  cold  paw  closed  on  my 
hand,  and  led  me  to  another  and  steeper  flight  of 
stairs.  At  the  top  of  these  was  a  second  landing, 
or  rather  passage,  at  the  end  of  which  a  crack  of 
light  showed  under  a  door.  A  dim  skylight  told 
that  the  roof  was  very  near  my  head  ;  I  extended 
a  groping  hand  for  the  wall,  and  without  any 
warning  found  my  fingers  closing  improbably, 
awfully,  upon  a  warm  human  face.  I  defy  the 
most  hardened  conspirator  to  have  refrained  from 
some  expression  of  opinion. 

134 


zA  Conspiracy  of  Silence 

"  Good  Lord ! "  I  gasped,  starting  back,  and 
knocking  my  head  hard  against  a  rafter.  ' '  What's 
that?" 

"It's  Maggie  Kane,  sir!"  hissed  a  female 
voice.  "I'm  after  bringing  up  a  bone  for  the 
dog  to  quieten  him  !  " 

That  Maggie  Kane  should  also  be  in  the  plot 
was  a  complication  beyond  my  stunned  intelli- 
gence ;  I  grasped  only  the  single  fact  that  she 
was  an  ally,  endued  with  supernatural  and  sym- 
pathetic forethought.  She  placed  in  my  hand  a 
tepid  and  bulky  fragment,  which,  even  in  the 
dark,  I  recognised  as  the  mighty  drumstick  of 
last  night's  goose ;  at  the  same  moment  Master 
Eddy  opened  the  door,  and  revealed  Playboy, 
tied  to  the  leg  of  a  low  wooden  bedstead. 

He  was  standing  up,  his  eyes  gleamed  green 
as  emeralds,  he  looked  as  big  as  a  calf.  He 
obviously  regarded  himself  as  the  guardian  of 
Eugene's  bower,  and  I  failed  to  see  any  recog- 
nition of  me  in  his  aspect,  in  point  of  fact  he 
appeared  to  be  on  the  verge  of  an  outburst  of 
suspicion  that  would  waken  the  house  once  and 
for  all.  We  held  a  council  of  war  in  whispers 
that  perceptibly  increased  his  distrust ;  I  think 
it  was  Maggie  Kane  who  suggested  that  Master 
Eddy  should  proffer  him  the  bone  while  I  un- 
fastened   the    rope.       The   strategy   succeeded, 

135 


Further    'Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

almost  too  well  in  fact.  Following  the  alluring 
drumstick  Playboy  burst  into  the  passage,  towing 
me  after  him  on  the  rope.  Still  preceded  by 
the  light-footed  Master  Eddy,  he  took  me  down 
the  attic  stairs  at  a  speed  which  was  the  next 
thing  to  a  headlong  fall,  while  Maggie  Kane 
held  the  candle  at  the  top.  As  we  stormed  past 
old  Flynn's  door  I  was  aware  that  the  snoring  had 
ceased,  but  "  the  pace  was  too  good  to  enquire." 
We  scrimmaged  down  the  second  flight  into  the 
darkness  of  the  hall,  fetching  up  somewhere  near 
the  clock,  which,  as  if  to  give  the  alarm,  uttered 
three  loud  and  poignant  cuckoos.  I  think  Play- 
boy must  have  sprung  at  it,  in  the  belief  that  it 
was  the  voice  of  the  drumstick  ;  I  only  know  that 
my  arm  was  nearly  wrenched  from  its  socket, 
and  that  the  clock  fell  with  a  crash  from  the  table 
to  the  floor,  where,  by  some  malevolence  of  its 
machinery,  it  continued  to  cuckoo  with  jocund 
and  implacable  persistence.  Something  that  was 
not  Playboy  bumped  against  me.  The  cuckoo's 
note  became  mysteriously  muffled,  and  a  door, 
revealing  a  fire-lit  kitchen,  was  shoved  open.  We 
struggled  through  it,  bound  into  a  sheaf  by  Play- 
boy's rope,  and  in  our  midst  the  cuckoo  clock, 
stifled  but  indomitable,  continued  its  protest  from 
under  Maggie  Kane's  shawl. 

In  the  kitchen  we  drew  breath  for  the  first  time, 
136 


HE    1)11)    NOT    DENY    HIMSELF    A    MOST    DISSOLUTE    WINK 


<*A  Conspiracy  of  Silence 

and  Maggie  Kane  put  the  cuckoo  clock  into  a 
flour  bin  ;  the  house  remained  still  as  the  grave. 
Master  Eddy  opened  the  back  door ;  behind  his 
head  the  Plough  glittered  wakefully  in  a  clear  and 
frosty  sky.     It  was  uncommonly  cold. 

Slipper  had  not  gone  to  the  wake,  and  was 
quite  sober.  I  shall  never  forget  it  to  him.  I 
told  him  that  Playboy  had  come  back,  and  was 
to  be  taken  home  at  once.  He  asked  no  in- 
convenient questions,  but  did  not  deny  himself  a 
most  dissolute  wink.  We  helped  him  to  saddle 
the  pony,  while  Playboy  crunched  his  hard-earned 
drumstick  in  the  straw.  In  less  than  ten  minutes 
he  rode  quietly  away  in  the  starlight,  with  Play- 
boy trotting  at  his  stirrup,  and  Playboy's  rope 
tied  to  his  arm. 

I  did  not  meet  Mr.  Flynn  at  breakfast ;  he  had 
started  early  for  a  distant  fair.  I  have,  however, 
met  him  frequently  since  then,  and  we  are  on  the 
best  of  terms.  We  have  not  shirked  allusions  to 
the  day's  hunting  at  Knockeenbwee,  but  Playboy 
has  not  on  these  occasions  been  mentioned  by 
either  of  us. 

I  understand  that  Slipper  has  put  forth  a 
version  of  the  story,  in  which  the  whole  matter 
is  resolved  into  a  trial  of  wits  between  himself 
and  Eugene.     With  this  I  have  not  interfered. 


'37 


VI 

THE    BOAT'S    SHARE 

I  was  sitting  on  the  steps  of  Shreelane  House, 
smoking  a  cigarette  after  breakfast.  By  the 
calendar,  the  month  was  November,  by  the  map 
it  was  the  South-west  of  Ireland,  but  by  every 
token  that  hot  sun  and  soft  breeze  could  offer  it 
was  the  Riviera  in  April. 

Maria,  my  wife's  water  spaniel,  elderly  now, 
but  unimpaired  in  figure,  and  in  character  merely 
fortified  in  guile  by  the  castigations  of  seven 
winters,  reclined  on  the  warm  limestone  flags 
beside  me.  Minx,  the  nursery  fox-terrier,  sat, 
as  was  her  practice,  upon  Maria's  ribs,  nodding 
in  slumber.     All  was  peace. 

Peace,  I  say,  but  even  as  I  expanded  in  it 
and  the  sunshine,  there  arose  to  me  from  the 
kitchen  window  in  the  area  the  voice  of  Mrs. 
Cadogan,  uplifted  in  passionate  questioning. 

"  Bridgie !  "  it  wailed.  "  Where's  me  beautiful 
head  and  me  lovely  feet  ?  " 

The  answer  to  this  amazing  inquiry  travelled 
shrilly  from  the  region  of  the  scullery. 

138 


The  Boat's  Share     - 

"  Bilin'  in  the  pot,  ma'am." 

I  realised  that  it  was  merely  soup  in  its  ele- 
mental stage  that  was  under  discussion,  but  Peace 
spread  her  wings  at  the  cry ;  it  recalled  the  fact 
that  Philippa  was  having  a  dinner  party  that  same 
night.  In  a  small  establishment  such  as  mine,  a 
dinner  party  is  an  affair  of  many  aspects,  all  of 
them  serious.  The  aspect  of  the  master  of  the 
house,  however,  is  not  serious,  it  is  merely  con- 
temptible. Having  got  out  the  champagne,  and 
reverentially  decanted  the  port,  there  remains  for 
him  no  further  place  in  the  proceedings,  no  moment 
in  which  his  presence  is  desired.  If,  at  such  a 
time,  I  wished  to  have  speech  with  my  wife,  she 
was  not  to  be  found ;  if  I  abandoned  the  search 
and  stationed  myself  in  the  hall,  she  would  pass 
me,  on  an  average,  twice  in  every  three  minutes, 
generally  with  flowers  in  her  hands,  always  with 
an  expression  so  rapt  as  to  abash  all  questionings. 
I  therefore  sat  upon  the  steps  and  read  the  paper, 
superfluous  to  all  save  the  dogs,  to  whom  I  at 
least  offered  a  harbourage  in  the  general  stress. 

Suddenly,  and  without  a  word  of  warning, 
Minx  and  Maria  were  converted  from  a  slumbrous 
mound  into  twin  comets — comets  that  trailed  a 
continuous  shriek  of  rage  as  they  flew  down  the 
avenue.  The  cause  of  the  affront  presently  re- 
vealed itself,  in  the  form  of  a  tall  woman,  with 

139 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  C]%CM. 

a  shawl  over  her  head,  and  a  basket  on  her  arm. 
She  advanced  unfalteringly,  Minx  walking  on  her 
hind  legs  beside  her,  as  if  in  a  circus,  attentively 
smelling  the  basket,  while  Maria  bayed  her  at 
large  in  the  background.  She  dropped  me  a 
curtsey  fit  for  the  Lord  Lieutenant. 

"  Does  your  Honour  want  any  fish  this  morn- 
ing ? "  Her  rippling  grey  hair  gleamed  like  silver 
in  the  sunlight,  her  face  was  straight-browed  and 
pale,  her  grey  eyes  met  mine  with  respectful  self- 
possession.  She  might  have  been  Deborah  the 
prophetess,  or  the  Mother  of  the  Gracchi ;  as  a 
matter  of  fact  I  recognised  her  as  a  certain  Mrs. 
Honora  Brickley,  mother  of  my  present  kitchen- 
maid,  a  lady  whom,  not  six  months  before,  I  had 
fined  in  a  matter  of  trespass  and  assault. 

"They're  lovely  fish  altogether!"  she  pursued, 
"  they're  leppin'  fresh  ! " 

Here  was  the  chance  to  make  myself  useful. 
I  called  down  the  area  and  asked  Mrs.  Cadogan 
if  she  wanted  fish.  (It  may  or  may  not  be  neces- 
sary to  mention  that  my  cook's  name  is  locally 
pronounced  "  Caydogawn.") 

"  What  fish  is  it,  sir  ? "  replied  Mrs.  Cadogan, 
presenting  at  the  kitchen  window  a  face  like  a 
harvest  moon. 

"Tis  pollock,  ma'am!"  shouted  Mrs.  Brickley 
from  the  foot  of  the  steps. 

140 


The  Boat's  Share 

"  'Sha !  thim's  no  good  to  us  ! "  responded 
the  harvest  moon  in  bitter  scorn.  "Thim's  not 
company  fish ! " 

/2SS 


"they're  lovely  fish  altogether!  they're  leppin'  fresh!" 

I  was  here  aware  of  the  presence  of  my  wife 
in  the  doorway,  with  a  menu-slate  in  one  hand, 
and  one  of  my  best  silk  pocket  handkerchiefs,  that 
had  obviously  been  used  as  a  duster,  in  the  other. 

141 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CB^M, 

"  Filleted  with  white  sauce — "  she  murmured 
to  herself,  a  world  of  thought  in  her  blue  eyes, 
"or  perhaps  quenelies " 

Mrs.  Brickley  instantly  extracted  a  long  and 
shapely  pollock  from  her  basket,  and,  with 
eulogies  of  its  beauty,  of  Philippa's  beauty,  and 
of  her  own  magnanimity  in  proffering  her  wares 
to  us  instead  of  to  a  craving  market  in  Skebawn, 
laid  it  on  the  steps. 

At  this  point  a  series  of  yells  from  the  nursery, 
of  the  usual  blood-curdling  description,  lifted 
Philippa  from  the  scene  of  action  as  a  wind 
whirls  a  feather. 

"Buy  them ! "  came  back  to  me  from  the  stairs. 

I  kept  to  myself  my  long-formed  opinion  that 
eating  pollock  was  like  eating  boiled  cotton  wool 
with  pins  in  it,  and  the  bargain  proceeded.  The 
affair  was  almost  concluded,  when  Mrs.  Brickley, 
in  snatching  a  fish  from  the  bottom  of  her  basket 
to  complete  an  irresistible  half-dozen,  let  it  slip 
from  her  fingers.  It  fell  at  my  feet,  revealing 
a  mangled  and  gory  patch  on  its  side. 

"Why,  then,  that's  the  best  fish  I  have!" 
declared  Mrs.  Brickley  in  response  to  my  protest. 
"  That's  the  very  one  her  honour  Mrs.  Yeates 
would  fancy !  She'd  always  like  to  see  the  blood 
running  fresh ! " 

This  flight  of  sympathetic  insight  did  not  deter 
142 


The  Boafs  Share 

me  from  refusing  the  injured  pollock,  coupled 
with  a  regret  that  Mrs.  Brickley's  cat  should  have 
been  interrupted  in  its  meal. 

Mrs.  Brickley  did  not  immediately  reply.  She 
peeped  down  the  area,  she  glanced  into  the  hall. 

"  Cat  is  it !  "  she  said,  sinking  her  voice  to  a 
mysterious  whisper.  "  Your  Honour  knows  well, 
God  bless  you,  that  it  was  no  cat  done  that ! " 

Obedient  to  the  wholly  fallacious  axiom  that 
those  who  ask  no  questions  will  be  told  no  lies, 
I  remained  silent. 

"  Only  for  the  luck  of  God  being  on  me  they'd 
have  left  meself  no  betther  than  they  left  the 
fish  ! "  continued  Mrs.  Brickley.  "  Your  Honour 
didn't  hear  what  work  was  in  it  on  Hare  Island 
Strand  last  night?  Thim  Keohanes  had  the 
wooden  leg  pulled  from  undher  me  husband  with 
the  len'th  o'  fightin' !  Oh !  Thim's  outlawed 
altogether,  and  the  faymales  is  as  manly  as  the 
men !  Sure  the  polis  theirselves  does  be  in 
dhread  of  thim  women!  The  day-and-night- 
screeching  porpoises ! " 

Seven  years  of  Resident  Magistracy  had  be- 
stowed upon  me  some  superficial  knowledge  of 
whither  all  this  tended.  I  rose  from  the  steps, 
with  the  stereotyped  statement  that  if  there  was 
to  be  a  case  in  court  I  could  not  listen  to  it  before- 
hand.    I  then  closed  the  hall  door,  not,  however, 

143 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CR<M. 

before  Mrs.  Brickley  had  assured  me  that  I  was 
the  only  gentleman,  next  to  the  Lord  Almighty, 
in  whom  she  had  any  confidence. 

The  next  incident  in  the  affair  occurred  at 
about  a  quarter  to  eight  that  evening.  I  was 
tying  my  tie  when  my  wife's  voice  summoned 
me  to  her  room  in  tones  that  presaged  disaster. 
Philippa  was  standing  erect,  in  a  white  and  glitter- 
ing garment.  Her  eyes  shone,  her  cheeks  glowed. 
It  is  not  given  to  every  one  to  look  their  best  when 
they  are  angry,  but  it  undoubtedly  is  becoming  to 
Philippa. 

"  I  ask  you  to  look  at  my  dress,"  she  said  in  a 
level  voice. 

"It   looks    very   nice "   I   said  cautiously, 

knowing  there  was  a  trap  somewhere.  "  I  know 
it,  don't  I  ? " 

"  Know  it ! "  replied  Philippa  witheringly,  "  did 
you  know  that  it  had  only  one  sleeve  ?  " 

She  extended  her  arms  ;  from  one  depended 
vague  and  transparent  films  of  whiteness,  the 
other  was  bare  to  the  shoulder.  I  rather  pre- 
ferred it  of  the  two. 

"Well,  I  can't  say  I  did,"  I  said  helplessly,  "is 
that  a  new  fashion  ?  " 

There  was  a  spectral  knock  at  the  door,  and 
Hannah,  the  housemaid,  slid  into  the  room,  purple 
of  face,  abject  of  mien. 

144 


The  Boat's  Share 

"It's  what  they're  afther  tellin'  me,  ma'am,"  she 
panted.     "  'Twas  took  to  sthrain  the  soup ! " 

11  They  took  my  sleeve  to  strain  the  soup ! " 
repeated  Philippa,  in  a  crystal  clarity  of  wrath. 

"  She  said  she  got  it  in  the  press  in  the  pas- 
sage, ma'am,  and  she  thought  you  were  afther 
throwin'  it,"  murmured  Hannah,  with  a  glance 
that  implored  my  support. 

"  Who  are  you  speaking  of  ? "  demanded 
Philippa,  looking  quite  six  feet  high. 

The  situation,  already  sufficiently  acute,  was 
here  intensified  by  the  massive  entry  of  Mrs. 
Cadogan,  bearing  in  her  hand  a  plate,  on  which 
was  a  mound  of  soaked  brownish  rag.  She  was 
blowing  hard,  the  glare  of  the  kitchen  range  at 
highest  power  lived  in  her  face. 

"  There's  your  sleeve,  ma'am  ! "  she  said,  "  and 
if  I  could  fall  down  dead  this  minute  it'd  be  no 
more  than  a  relief  to  me!  And  as  for  Bridgie 
Brickley ! "  continued  Mrs.  Cadogan,  catching  her 
wind  with  a  gasp,  "  I  thravelled  many  genthry's 
kitchens,  but  thanks  be  to  God,  I  never  seen  the 
like  of  her !  Five  weeks  to-morrow  she's  in  this 
house,  and  there  isn't  a  day  but  I  gave  her  a 
laceratin' !  Sure  the  hair's  droppin'  out  o'  me 
head,  and  the  skin  rollin'  off  the  soles  o'  me  feet 
with  the  heart  scald  I  get  with  her !  The  big, 
low,  dirty  buccaneer!      And   I   declare  to  you, 

H5  * 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

ma'am,  and  to  the  Major,  that  I  have  a  pain 
switching  out  through  me  hips  this  minute  that'd 
bring  down  a  horse]  " 

"  Oh  God ! "  said  Hannah,  clapping  her  hand 
over  her  mouth. 

My  eye  met  Philippa's ;  some  tremor  of  my 
inward  agony  declared  itself,  and  found  its  fellow 
on  her  quivering  lips.  In  the  same  instant,  wheels 
rumbled  in  the  avenue. 

"  Here  are  the  Knoxes ! "  I  exclaimed,  escaping 
headlong  from  the  room  with  my  dignity  as  master 
of  the  house  still  intact. 

Dinner,  though  somewhat  delayed  by  these 
agitations,  passed  off  reasonably  well.  Its  occa- 
sion was  the  return  from  the  South  African  war 
of  my  landlord  and  neighbour,  Mr.  Florence 
McCarthy  Knox,  M.F.H.,  J. P.,  who  had  been 
serving  his  country  in  the  Yeomanry  for  the  past 
twelve  months.  The  soup  gave  no  hint  of  its 
cannibalistic  origin,  and  was  of  a  transparency 
that  did  infinite  credit  to  the  services  of  Philippa's 
sleeve  ;  the  pollock,  chastely  robed  in  white  sauce, 
held  no  suggestion  of  a  stormy  past,  nor,  it  need 
scarcely  be  said,  did  they  foreshadow  their  in- 
fluence on  my  future.  As  they  made  their  circuit 
of  the  table  I  aimed  a  communing  glance  at  my 
wife,  who,  serene  in  pale  pink  and  conversation 
with  Mr.  Knox,  remained  unresponsive. 

146 


The  Boat's  Share 

How  the  volcano  that  I  knew  to  be  raging 
below  in  the  kitchen  could  have  brought  forth 
anything  more  edible  than  molten  paving  stones 
I  was  at  a  loss  to  imagine.  Had  Mrs.  Cadogan 
sent  up  Bridget  Brickley's  head  as  an  entremet 
it  would  not,  indeed,  have  surprised  me.  I  could 
not  know  that  as  the  gong  sounded  for  dinner 
Miss  Brickley  had  retired  to  her  bed  in  strong 
hysterics,  announcing  that  she  was  paralysed, 
while  Mrs.  Cadogan,  rapt  by  passion  to  an  ecstasy 
of  achievement,  coped  single-handed  with  the 
emergency. 

At  breakfast  time  next  morning  Philippa  and  I 
were  informed  that  the  invalid  had  at  an  early 
hour  removed  herself  and  her  wardrobe  from  the 
house,  requisitioning  for  the  purpose  my  donkey- 
cart  and  the  attendance  of  my  groom,  Peter  Cado- 
gan ;  a  proceeding  on  which  the  comments  of 
Peter's  aunt,  Mrs.  Cadogan,  left  nothing  to  be 
desired. 

The  affair  on  the  strand  at  Hare  Island  ripened, 
with  infinite  complexity  of  summonses  and  cross- 
summonses,  into  an  imposing  Petty  Sessions  case. 
Two  separate  deputations  presented  themselves 
at  Shreelane,  equipped  with  black  eyes  and  other 
conventional  injuries,  one  of  them  armed  with  a 
creelful  of  live  lobsters  to  underline  the  argument. 
To  decline  the  bribe  was  of  no  avail :  the  deputa- 

147 


Further   'Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

tion  decanted  them  upon  the  floor  of  the  hall  and 
retired,  and  the  lobsters  spread  themselves  at 
large  over  the  house,  and  to  this  hour  remain  the 
nightrnare  of  the  nursery. 

The  next  Petty  Sessions  day  was  wet ;  the  tall 


THE   INVALID   REMOVED   HKRSELF 


windows  of  the  Court  House  were  grey  and 
streaming,  and  the  reek  of  wet  humanity  ascended 
to  the  ceiling.  As  I  took  my  seat  on  the  bench  I 
perceived  with  an  inward  groan  that  the  services 
of  the  two  most  eloquent  solicitors  in  Skebawn 
had  been  engaged.  This  meant  that  Justice  would 
not  have  run  its  course  till  heaven  knew  what  dim 

148 


The  Boat's  Share 

hour  of  the  afternoon,  and  that  that  course  would 
be  devious  and  difficult. 

All  the  pews  and  galleries  (any  Irish  court- 
house might,  with  the  addition  of  a  harmonium, 
pass  presentably  as  a  dissenting  chapel)  were  full, 
and  a  line  of  flat-capped  policemen  stood  like 
church  -  wardens  near  the  door.  Under  the 
galleries,  behind  what  might  have  answered  to 
choir-stalls,  the  witnesses  and  their  friends  hid 
in  darkness,  which  could,  however,  but  partially 
conceal  two  resplendent  young  ladies,  barmaids, 
who  were  to  appear  in  a  subsequent  Sunday 
drinking  case.  I  was  a  little  late,  and  when  I 
arrived  Flurry  Knox,  supported  by  a  couple  of 
other  magistrates,  was  in  the  chair,  imperturbable 
of  countenance  as  was  his  wont,  his  fair  and  de- 
lusive youthfulness  of  aspect  unimpaired  by  his 
varied  experiences  during  the  war,  his  roving, 
subtle  eye  untamed  by  four  years  of  matrimony. 

A  woman  was  being  examined,  a  square  and 
ugly  country-woman,  with  wispy  fair  hair,  a  slow, 
dignified  manner,  and  a  slight  and  impressive 
stammer.  I  recognised  her  as  one  of  the  body- 
guard of  the  lobsters.  Mr.  Mooney,  solicitor  for 
the  Brickleys,  widely  known  and  respected  as 
"  Roaring  Jack,"  was  in  possession  of  that  much- 
enduring  organ,  the  ear  of  the  Court. 

"Now,  Kate  Keohane!"  he  thundered,  "tell 
149 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

me  what  time  it  was  when  all   this  was  going 
onr 

"  About  duskish,  sir.  Con  Brickley  was  slash- 
ing the  f-fish  at  me  mother  the  same  time.  He 
never  said  a  word  but  to  take  the  shtick  and  fire 
me  dead  with  it  on  the  sthrand.  He  gave 
me  plenty  of  blood  to  dhrink  too,"  said  the 
witness  with  acid  decorum.  She  paused  to 
permit  this  agreeable  fact  to  sink  in,  and  added, 
"his  wife  wanted  to  f-fashten  on  me  the  same 
time,  an'  she  havin'  the  steer  of  the  boat  to 
sthrike  me." 

These  were  not  precisely  the  facts  that  Mr. 
Murphy,  as  solicitor  for  the  defence,  wished  to 
elicit. 

"  Would  you  kindly  explain  what  you  mean  by 
the  steer  of  the  boat  ? "  he  demanded,  sparring 
for  wind  in  as  intimidating  a  manner  as  possible. 
The  witness  stared  at  him. 

"  Sure  'tis  the  shtick,  like,  that  they  pulls  here 
and  there  to  go  in  their  choice  place." 

"  We  may  presume  that  the  lady  is  referring  to 
the  tiller,"  said  Mr.  Mooney,  with  a  facetious  eye 
at  the  Bench.  "  Maybe  now,  ma'am,  you  can 
explain  to  us  what  sort  of  a  boat  is  she  ?  " 

"  She's  that  owld  that  if  it  wasn't  for  the  weeds 
that's  holding  her  together  she'd  bursht  up  in  the 
deep." 

150 


The  Boat's  Share 

"And  who  owns  this  valuable  property?" 
pursued  Mr.  Mooney. 

"She's  between  Con  Brickley  and  me  brother, 
an'  the  saine  is  between  four,  an'  whatever  crew 
does  be  in  it  should  get  their  share,  and  the  boat 
hasa  man's  share." 

I  made  no  attempt  to  comprehend  this,  relying 
with  well-founded  confidence  on  Flurry  Knox's 
grasp  of  such  enigmas. 

"Was  Con  Brickley  fishing  the  same  day?" 

"  He  was  not,  sir.  He  was  at  Lisheen  Fair ; 
for  as  clever  as  he  is,  he  couldn't  kill  two  birds 
under  one  slat !  " 

Kate  Keohane's  voice  moved  unhurried  from 
sentence  to  sentence  and  her  slow  pale  eyes 
turned  for  an  instant  to  the  lair  of  the  witnesses 
under  the  gallery. 

"  And  you're  asking  the  Bench  to  believe  that 
this  decent  man  left  his  business  in  Lisheen  in 
order  to  slash  fish  at  your  mother  ? "  said  Mr. 
Mooney  truculently. 

"  B'lieve  me,  sorra  much  business  he  laves 
afther  him  wherever  he'll  go!"  returned  the 
witness,  "himself  and  his  wife  had  business 
enough  on  the  sthrand  when  the  fish  was  dividing, 
and  it's  then  themselves  put  every  name  on  me." 

"Ah,  what  harm  are  names !  "  said  Mr.  Mooney, 
dallying  elegantly  with   a  massive  watch-chain. 

I5i 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.M. 

"  Come  now,  ma'am !  will  you  swear  you  got  any 
ill-usage  from  Con  Brickley  or  his  wife?"  He 
leaned  over  the  front  of  his  pew,  and  waited  for 
the  answer  with  his  massive  red  head  on  one 
side. 

"  I  was  givin'  blood  like  a  c-cow  that  ye'd  shtab 
with  a  knife  1 "  said  Kate  Keohane,  with  unshaken 
dignity.  "  If  it  was  yourself  that  was  in  it  ye'd 
feel  the  smart  as  well  as  me.  My  hand  and  word 
on  it,  ye  would  !  The  marks  is  on  me  head  still, 
like  the  prints  of  dog-bites ! " 

She  lifted  a  lock  of  hair  from  her  forehead,  and 
exhibited  a  sufficiently  repellant  injury.  Flurry 
Knox  leaned  forward. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  haven't  that  since  the  time 
there  was  that  business  between  yourself  and  the 
postmistress  at  Munig?  I'm  told  you  had  the 
name  of  the  office  on  your  forehead  where  she 
struck  you  with  the  office  stamp!  Try  now, 
sergeant,  can  you  read  Munig  on  her  forehead  ?  " 

The  Court,  not  excepting  its  line  of  church- 
wardens, dissolved  into  laughter  ;  Kate  Keohane 
preserved  an  offended  silence. 

"I  suppose  you  want  us  to  believe,"  resumed 
Mr.  Mooney  sarcastically,  "  that  a  fine  hearty 
woman  like  you  wasn't  defending  yourself!" 
Then  with  a  turkey-cock  burst  of  fury,  "  On  your 
oath  now !     What  did  you  strike  Honora  Brickley 

I52 


The  Boat's  Share 

with  ?     Answer  me  that  now  !     What  had  you  in 
your  hand  ?  " 

"  I  had  nothing  only  the  little  rod  I  had  afther 
the  ass,"  answered  Miss  Keohane,  with  childlike 
candour.  "  I  done  nothing  to  them  ;  but  as  for 
Con  Brickley  he  put  his  back  to  the  cliff  and  he 
took  the  flannel  wrop  that  he  had  on  him,  and  he 
threwn  it  on  the  sthrand,  and  he  said  he  should 
have  Blood,  Murdher,  or  F-Fish  !" 

She  folded  her  shawl  across  her  breast,  a  picture 
of  virtue  assailed,  yet  unassailable. 

"  You  may  go  down  now,"  said  "  Roaring  Jack  " 
rather  hastily,  "  I  want  to  have  a  few  words  with 
your  brother." 

Miss  Keohane  retired,  without  having  moulted 
a  feather  of  her  dignity,  and  her  brother  Jer  came 
heavily  up  the  steps  and  on  to  the  platform,  his 
hot,  wary,  blue  eyes  gathering  in  the  Bench  and 
the  attorneys  in  one  bold  comprehensive  glance. 
He  was  a  tall,  dark  man  of  about  five  and  forty, 
clean-shaved,  save  for  two  clerical  inches  of  black 
whiskers,  and  in  feature  of  the  type  of  a  London 
clergyman  who  would  probably  preach  on 
Browning. 

"Well,  sir!"  began  Mr.  Mooney  stimulatingly, 
"and  are  you  the  biggest  blackguard  from  here 
to  America  ? " 

"  I  am  not,"  said  Jer  Keohane  tranquilly. 
153 


Further    'Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.Af. 

"  We  had  you  here  before  us  not  so  very  long 
ago  about  kicking  a  goat,  wasn't  it  ?  You  got  a 
little  touch  of  a  pound,  I  think  ?  " 

This  delicate  allusion  to  a  fine  that  the  Bench 
had  thought  fit  to  impose  did  not  distress  the 
witness. 

"I  did,  sir." 

11  And  how's  our  friend  the  goat  ?  "  went  on  Mr. 
Mooney,  with  the  furious  facetiousness  reserved 
for  hustling  tough  witnesses. 

"Well,  I  suppose  she's  something  west  of  the 
Skelligs  by  now,"  replied  Jer  Keohane  with  great 
composure. 

An  appreciative  grin  ran  round  the  court.  The 
fact  that  the  goat  had  died  of  the  kick  and  been 
"given  the  cliff"  being  regarded  as  an  excellent 
jest. 

Mr.  Mooney  consulted  his  notes  : 

"  Well,  now,  about  this  fight,"  he  said  pleasantly, 
"  did  you  see  your  sister  catch  Mrs.  Brickley  and 
pull  her  hair  down  to  the  ground  and  drag  the 
shawl  off  of  her  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  the  witness  airily,  "they  had  a 
little  bit  of  a  scratch  on  account  o'  the  fish.  Con 
Brickley  had  the  shteer  o'  the  boat  in  his  hand 
and  says  he,  '  is  there  any  man  here  that'll  take 
the  shteer  from  me?'  The  man  was  dhrunk,  of 
course,"  added  Jer  charitably. 

154 


The  Boat's  Share 

"  Did  you  have  any  talk  with  his  wife  about 
the  fish?" 

"  I  couldn't  tell  the  words  that  she  said  to  me  ! " 
replied  the  witness,  with  a  reverential  glance  at 
the  Bench,  "and  she  over-right  three  crowds  o' 
men  that  was  on  the  sthrand." 

Mr.  Mooney  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and 
surveyed  the  witness. 

"You're  a  very  refined  gentleman  upon  my 
word  !     Were  you  ever  in  England  ?  " 

"  I  was  part  of  three  years." 

"  Oh,  that  accounts  for  it,  I  suppose  ! "  said  Mr. 
Mooney,  accepting  this  lucid  statement  without  a 
stagger,  and  passing  lightly  on.  "  You're  a 
widower,  I  understand,  with  no  objection  to  con- 
soling yourself?" 

No  answer. 

"  Now,  sir !  Can  you  deny  that  you  made  pro- 
posals of  marriage  to  Con  Brickley's  daughter  last 
Shraft?" 

The  plot  thickened.  Con  Brickley's  daughter 
was  my  late  kitchenmaid. 

Jer  Keohane  smiled  tolerantly. 

"  Ah !     That  was  a  thing  o'  nothing ! " 

"Nothing!"  said  Mr.  Mooney,  with  the  roar 
of  a  tornado,  "do  you  call  an  impudent  proposal 
of  marriage  to  a  respectable  man's  daughter 
nothing!     That's  English  manners,  I  suppose  1" 

«55 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CI{ZM. 

11  I  was  goin'  home  one  Sunday,"  said  Jer 
Keohane,  conversationally  to  the  Bench,  "and 
I  met  the  gerr'l  and  her  mother.  I  spoke  to  the 
gerr'l  in  a  friendly  way,  and  asked  her  why  wasn't 
she  gettin'  marrid,  and  she  commenced  to  peg 
stones  at  me  and  dhrew  several  blows  of  an 
umbrella  on  me.  I  had  only  three  bottles  o' 
porther  taken.     There  now  was  the  whole  of  it." 

Mrs.  Brickley,  from  under  the  gallery,  groaned 
heavily  and  ironically. 

I  found  it  difficult  to  connect  these  coquetries 
with  my  impressions  of  my  late  kitchenmaid,  a 
furtive  and  touzled  being,  who,  in  conjunction 
with  a  pail  and  scrubbing  brush,  had  been  wont 
to  melt  round  corners  and  into  doorways  at  my 
approach. 

"Are  we  trying  a  breach  of  promise  case?" 
interpolated  Flurry,  "  if  so,  we  ought  to  have  the 
plaintiff  in." 

"My  purpose,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Mooney,  in  a 
manner  discouraging  to  levity,  "is  to  show  that 
my  clients  have  received  annoyance  and  contempt 
from  this  man  and  his  sister  such  as  no  parents 
would  submit  to." 

A  hand  came  forth  from  under  the  gallery  and 
plucked  at  Mr.  Mooney's  coat.  A  red  monkey 
face  appeared  out  of  the  darkness,  and  there  was 
a  hoarse  whisper  whose  purport  I  could  not  gather. 

156 


The  Boat's  Share 

Con  Brickley,  the  defendant,  was  giving  instruc- 
tions to  his  lawyer. 

It  was  perhaps  as  a  result  of  these  that  jer 
Keohane's  evidence  closed  here.  There  was  a 
brief  interval,  enlivened  by  coughs,  grinding  of 
heavy  boots  on  the  floor,  and  some  mumbling 
and  groaning  under  the  gallery. 

"There's  great  duck-shooting  out  on  a  lake  on 
this  island,"  commented  Flurry  to  me,  in  a  whisper. 
"  My  grand-uncle  went  there  one  time  with  an  old 
duck-gun  he  had,  that  he  fired  with  a  fuse.  He 
was  three  hours  stalking  the  ducks  before  he  got 
the  gun  laid.  He  lit  the  fuse  then,  and  it  set  to 
work  sputtering  and  hissing  like  a  goods-engine 
till  there  wasn't  a  duck  within  ten  miles.  The 
gun  went  off  then." 

This  useful  side  light  on  the  matter  in  hand  was 
interrupted  by  the  cumbrous  ascent  of  the  one- 
legged  Con  Brickley  to  the  witness-table.  He 
sat  down  heavily,  with  his  slouch  hat  on  his  sound 
knee,  and  his  wooden  stump  stuck  out  before  him. 
His  large  monkey-face  was  immovably  serious; 
his  eye  was  small,  light  grey,  and  very  quick. 

McCaffery,  the  opposition  attorney,  a  thin, 
restless  youth,  with  ears  like  the  handles  of  an 
urn,  took  him  in  hand.  To  the  pelting  cross-exa- 
mination that  beset  him  Con  Brickley  replied 
with  sombre  deliberation,  and  with  a  manner  of 

157 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  I^M. 
uninterested  honesty,  emphasising  what  he  said 


CON   BRICKLEY 


with   slight,  very  effective  gestures  of  his  big, 
supple  hands.     His  voice  was  deep  and  pleasant ; 

158 


The  Boat's  Share 

it  betrayed  no  hint  of  so  trivial  a  thing  as  satis- 
faction when,  in  the  teeth  of  Mr.  McCaffery's 
leading  questions,  he  established  the  fact  that  the 
"little  rod"  with  which  Miss  Kate  Keohane 
had  beaten  his  wife  was  the  handle  of  a  pitch- 
fork. 

"  I  was  counting  the  fish  the  same  time,"  went 
on  Con  Brickley,  in  his  rolling  basso  profund- 
issimo,  "  and  she  said,  '  Let  the  divil  clear  me  out 
of  the  sthrand,  for  there's  no  one  else  will  put  me 
out! '  says  she." 

"It  was  then  she  got  the  blow,  I  suppose ! "  said 
McCaffery  venomously ;  "  you  had  a  stick  your- 
self, I  daresay  ?  " 

"Yes.  I  had  a  stick.  I  must  have  a  stick," 
deep  and  mellow  pathos  was  hinted  at  in  the 
voice ;  "1  am  sorry  to  say.  What  could  I  do  to 
her?  A  man  with  a  wooden  leg  on  a  sthrand 
could  do  nothing ! " 

Something  like  a  laugh  ran  round  the  back  of 
the  court.  Mr.  McCaffery's  ears  turned  scarlet 
and  became  quite  decorative.  On  or  off  a  strand 
Con  Brickley  was  not  a  person  to  be  scored  off 
easily. 

His  clumsy  yet  impressive  descent  from  the 
witness-stand  followed  almost  immediately,  and 
was  not  the  least  telling  feature  of  his  evidence. 
Mr.  Mooney  surveyed  his  exit  with  the  admiration 

159 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  1$.M. 

of  one  artist  for  another,  and  rising,  asked  the 
Bench's  permission  to  call  Mrs.  Brickley. 

Mrs.  Brickley,  as  she  mounted  to  the  platform, 


LET  THE   DIVIL   CLEAR   ME  OUT   OF  THE   STHRAND!" 


in  the  dark  and  nun-like  severity  of  her  long 
cloak,  the  stately  blue  cloth  cloak  that  is  the 
privilege  of  the  Munster  peasant  woman,  was 
an   example   of  the  rarely  blended    qualities  of 

1 60 


The  Boat's  Share 

picturesqueness  and  respectability.     As  she  took 
her  seat  in  the  chair,  she  flung  the  deep  hood 


A  WITNESS  TO  BE  PROOD  OF 


back  on  to  her  shoulders,  and  met  the  gaze  of 
the  Court  with  her  grey  head  erect ;  she  was  a 
witness  to  be  proud  of. 

161  L 


Further   "Experiences  of  an  Irish  CRCM. 

"  Now  Mrs.  Brickley,"  said  "  Roaring  Jack " 
urbanely,  "will  you  describe  this  interview  be- 
tween your  daughter  and  Keohane." 

"  It  was  the  last  Sunday  in  Shrove,  your 
Worship,  Mr.  Flurry  Knox,  and  gentlemen," 
began  Mrs.  Brickley  nimbly,  "meself  and  me 
little  gerr'l  was  comin'  from  mass,  and  Jer  Keo- 
hane come  up  to  us  and  got  on  in  a  most  un- 
mannerable  way.  He  asked  me  daughter  would 
she  marry  him.  Me  daughter  told  him  she  would 
not,  quite  friendly  like.  I'll  tell  ye  no  lie,  gentle- 
men, she  was  teasing  him  with  the  umbrella  the 
same  time,  an'  he  raised  his  shtick  and  dhrew  a 
sthroke  on  her  in  the  back,  an'  the  little  gerr'l 
took  up  a  small  pebble  of  a  stone  and  fired  it  at 
him.  She  put  the  umbrella  up  to  his  mouth,  but 
she  called  him  no  names.  But  as  for  him,  the 
names  he  put  on  her  was  to  call  her  'a  nasty 
long  slopeen  of  a  proud  thing,  and  a  slopeen  of 
a  proud  tinker.'" 

"  Very  lover-like  expressions ! "  commented  Mr. 
Mooney,  doubtless  stimulated  by  lady-like  titters 
from  the  barmaids;  "and  had  this  romantic 
gentleman  made  any  previous  proposals  for  your 
daughter  ?  " 

"  Himself  had  two  friends  over  from  across  the 
water  one  night  to  make  the  match,  a  Sathurday 
it  was,  and  they  should  land  the  lee  side  o'  the 

162 


The  Boat's  Share 

island,  for  the  wind  was  a  fright,"  replied  Mrs. 
Brickley,  launching  her  tale  with  the  power  of 
easy  narration  that  is  bestowed  with  such  amazing 
liberality  on  her  class;  "the  three  o'  them  had 
dhrink  taken,  an'  I  went  to  shlap  out  the  door 
agin  them.  Me  husband  said  then  we  should 
let  them  in,  if  it  was  a  Turk  itself,  with  the  rain 
that  was  in  it.  They  were  talking  in  it  then  till 
near  the  dawning,  and  in  the  latther  end  all  that 
was  between  them  was  the  boat's  share." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  the  boat's  share '  ?  " 
said  I. 

"  'Tis  the  same  as  a  man's  share,  me  worship- 
ful gintleman,"  returned  Mrs.  Brickley  splendidly ; 
"  it  goes  with  the  boat  always,  afther  the  crew 
and  the  saine  has  their  share  got." 

I  possibly  looked  as  enlightened  as  I  felt  by 
this  exposition. 

"  You  mean  that  Jer  wouldn't  have  her  unless  he 
got  the  boat's  share  with  her  ? "  suggested  Flurry. 

"He  said  it  over-right  all  that  was  in  the  house, 
and  he  reddening  his  pipe  at  the  fire,"  replied 
Mrs.  Brickley,  in  full-sailed  response  to  the  helm. 
"  '  D'ye  think,'  says  I  to  him,  '  that  me  daughter 
would  leave  a  lovely  situation,  with  a  kind  and 
tendher  masther,  for  a  mean,  hungry  blagyard 
like  yerself,'  says  I,  'that's  livin'  always  in  this 
backwards  place!'  says  I." 

163 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CB^M. 

This  touching  expression  of  preference  for 
myself,  as  opposed  to  Mr.  Keohane,  was  received 
with  expressionless  respect  by  the  Court.  Flurry, 
with  an  impassive  countenance,  kicked  me  heavily 
under  cover  of  the  desk.  I  said  that  we  had 
better  get  on  to  the  assault  on  the  strand.  No- 
thing could  have  been  more  to  Mrs.  Brickley's 
taste.  We  were  minutely  instructed  as  to  how 
Katie  Keohane  drew  the  shawleen  forward  on 
Mrs.  Brickley's  head  to  stifle  her  ;  and  how  Norrie 
Keohane  was  fast  in  her  hair.  Of  how  Mrs. 
Brickley  had  then  given  a  stroke  upwards  between 
herself  and  her  face  (whatever  that  might  mean) 
and  loosed  Norrie  from  her  hair.  Of  how  she 
then  sat  down  and  commenced  to  cry  from  the 
use  they  had  for  her. 

"  'Twas  all  I  done,"  she  concluded,  looking 
like  a  sacred  picture,  "  I  gave  a  sthroke  of  a 
pollock  on  them."  Then,  an  after-thought,  M  an' 
if  I  did,  'twas  myself  was  at  the  loss  of  the  same 
pollock ! " 

I  fixed  my  eyes  immovably  on  my  desk.  I 
knew  that  the  slightest  symptom  of  intelligence 
on  my  part  would  instantly  draw  forth  the  episode 
of  the  fish-buying  on  the  morning  of  the  dinner 
party,  with  the  rape  of  Philippa's  sleeve,  and  the 
unjust  aspersion  on  Miss  Brickley  following  in 
due  sequence,  ending  with  the  paralytic  seizure 

164 


The  Boat's  Share 

and  dignified  departure  of  the  latter  to  her  parents' 
residence  in  Hare  Island.  The  critical  moment 
was  averted  by  a  question  from  Mr.  Mooney. 

"  As  for  language,"  replied  Mrs.  Brickley,  with 
clear  eyes  a  little  uplifted  in  the  direction  of  the 
ceiling,  "there  was  no  name  from  heaven  and 
hell  but  she  had  it  on  me,  and  wishin'  the  divil 
might  burn  the  two  heels  off  me,  and  the  like  o' 
me  wasn't  in  sivin  parishes !  And  that  was  the 
clane  part  of  the  discoorse,  yer  Worships ! " 

Mrs.  Brickley  here  drew  her  cloak  more  closely 
about  her,  as  though  to  enshroud  herself  in  her 
own  refinement,  and  presented  to  the  Bench  a 
silence  as  elaborate  as  a  drop  scene.  It  implied, 
amongst  other  things,  a  generous  confidence  in 
the  imaginative  powers  of  her  audience. 

Whether  or  no  this  was  misplaced,  Mrs.  Brickley 
was  not  invited  further  to  enlighten  the  Court. 
After  her  departure  the  case  droned  on  in  in- 
exhaustible rancour,  and  trackless  complications 
as  to  the  shares  of  the  fish.  Its  ethics  and  its 
arithmetic  would  have  defied  the  allied  intellects 
of  Solomon  and  Bishop  Colenso.  It  was  some- 
where in  that  dead  hour  of  the  afternoon,  when 
it  is  too  late  for  lunch  and  too  early  for  tea,  that 
the  Bench,  wan  with  hunger,  wound  up  the  affair 
by  impartially  binding  both  parties  in  sheaves 
"to  the  Peace." 

165 


Further   "Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.M. 

As  a  sub-issue  I  arranged  with  Mr.  Knox  to 
shoot  duck  on  the  one-legged  man's  land  on 
Hare  Island  as  soon  as  should  be  convenient, 
and  lightly  dismissed  from  my  mind  my  dealings, 
official  and  otherwise,  with  the  House  of  Brickley. 

But  even  as  there  are  people  who  never  give 
away  old  clothes,  so  are  there  people,  of  whom  is 
Flurry  Knox,  who  never  dismiss  anything  from 
their  minds. 


1 66 


VII 

THE  LAST  DAY  OF  SHRAFT 

It  was  not  many  days  after  the  Keohane  and 
Brickley  trial  that  my  wife's  elderly  step-brother, 
Maxwell  Bruce,  wrote  to  us  to  say  that  he  was 
engaged  in  a  tour  through  the  Irish-speaking 
counties,  and  would  look  us  up  on  his  way  from 
Kerry.  The  letter  began  "  O  Bean  uasal"  and 
broke  into  eruptions  of  Erse  at  various  points, 
but  the  excerpts  from  Bradshaw  were,  fortunately, 
in  the  vernacular. 

Philippa  assured  me  she  could  read  it  all. 
During  the  previous  winter  she  had  had  five 
lessons  and  a  half  in  the  Irish  language  from 
the  National  Schoolmaster,  and  believed  herself 
to  be  one  of  the  props  of  the  Celtic  movement. 
My  own  attitude  with  regard  to  the  Celtic  move- 
ment was  sympathetic,  but  a  brief  inspection  of 
the  grammar  convinced  me  that  my  sympathies 
would  not  survive  the  strain  of  tripthongs,  eclipsed 
consonants,  and  synthetic  verbs,  and  that  I  should 
do  well  to  refrain  from  embittering  my  declining 
years  by  an  impotent  and  humiliating  pursuit  of 

167 


Further   'Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.M. 

the  most  elusive  of  pronunciations.  Philippa  had 
attained  to  the  height  of  being  able  to  greet  the 
schoolmaster  in  Irish,  and,  if  the  day  happened  to 
be  fine,  she  was  capable  of  stating  the  fact ;  other 
aspects  of  the  weather,  however  remarkable,  she 
epitomised  in  a  brilliant  smile,  and  the  school- 
master was  generally  considerate  enough  not  to 
press  the  matter. 

My  step-brother-in-law  neither  hunted,  shot, 
nor  fished,  yet  as  a  guest  he  never  gave  me  a 
moment's  anxiety.  He  possessed  the  attribute, 
priceless  in  guests,  a  good  portable  hobby,  in- 
volving no  machinery,  accessories,  or  parapher- 
nalia of  any  kind.  It  did  not  even  involve  the 
personal  attendance  of  his  host.  His  mornings 
were  spent  in  proffering  Irish  phrases  to  bewildered 
beggars  at  the  hall  door,  or  to  the  respectfully 
bored  Peter  Cadogan  in  the  harness-room.  He 
held  conversaziones  in  the  servants'  hall  after 
dinner,  while  I  slept  balmily  in  front  of  the  draw- 
ing-room fire.  When  not  thus  engaged,  he  sat 
in  his  room  making  notes,  and  writing  letters  to 
the  Archimandrites  of  his  faith.  Truly  an  ideal 
visitor,  one  to  whom  neglect  was  a  kindness,  and 
entertainments  an  abomination  ;  certainly  not  a 
person  to  take  to  Hare  Island  to  shoot  ducks  with 
Flurry  Knox. 

But  it    was   otherwise   ordained   by   Philippa. 
[68 


The  Last  Day  of  Shraft 
Hare  Island  was,  she  said,  and  the  schoolmaster 


HIS   MORNINGS   WERE   SPENT   IN   PROFFERING   IRISH   PHRASES 


said,  a  place  where  the  Irish  language  was  still 

169 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^  Af. 

spoken  with  a  purity  worthy  of  the  Isles  of  Aran. 
Its  folk-lore  was  an  un worked  mine,  and  it  was 
moreover  the  home  of  one  Shemus  Ruadth,  a 
singer  and  poet  (and,  I  may  add,  a  smuggler  of 
tobacco)  of  high  local  renown :  Maxwell  should 
on  no  account  miss  such  a  chance.  I  mentioned 
that  Hare  Island  was  at  present  going  through 
the  measles  phase  of  its  usual  rotation  of  epidemics. 
My  wife  wavered,  in  a  manner  that  showed  me 
that  I  had  been  on  the  verge  of  a  family  picnic, 
and  I  said  I  had  heard  that  there  was  whooping- 
cough  there  too.  The  children  had  had  neither. 
The  picnic  expired  without  a  sound,  but  my  step- 
brother-in-law  had  made  up  his  mind. 

It  was  a  grey  and  bitter  February  morning 
when  Maxwell  and  I,  accompanied  by  Peter 
Cadogan,  stood  waiting  on  the  beach  at  Yokahn 
for  Flurry  to  arrive.  Maria,  as  was  her  wont, 
was  nosing  my  gun  as  if  she  expected  to  see  a 
woodcock  fly  out  of  it ;  that  Minx  was  beside  her 
was  due  to  the  peculiar  inveteracy  of  Minx.  How 
she  had  achieved  it  is  of  no  consequence  ;  the  dis- 
tressing fact  remained  that  she  was  there,  seated, 
shuddering,  upon  a  space  of  wet  stone  no  larger 
than  a  sixpence,  and  had  to  be  accepted  as  one  of 
the  party.  It  struck  me  that  Mr.  Cadogan  had 
rather  overdressed  the  part  of  dog-boy  and  bag- 
bearer,  being  attired  in  a  striped  blue  flannel  suit 

170 


The  Last  Day  of  Shraft 

that  had  once  been  mine,  a  gaudy  new  cap,  and 
yellow  boots.  The  social  possibilities  of  Hare 
Island  had  faded  from  my  mind ;  I  merely  ex- 
perienced the  usual  humiliation  of  perceiving  how 
discarded  garments  can,  in  a  lower  sphere,  renew 
their  youth  and  blossom  as  the  rose.  I  was  even 
formulating  a  system  of  putting  my  old  clothes 
out  at  grass,  as  it  were,  with  Peter  Cadogan, 
when  a  messenger  arrived  with  a  note  from 
Flurry  Knox  in  which  he  informed  me,  with 
many  regrets,  that  he  was  kept  at  home  on  un- 
expected business,  but  he  had  arranged  that  we 
should  find  a  boat  ready  to  take  us  to  the  island, 
and  Con  Brickley  would  look  after  us  when  we 
got  there.  The  boat  was  even  now  nearing  the 
beach,  rowed  by  two  men,  who,  in  beautiful  accord 
with  our  "  binding  to  the  Peace,"  proved  to  be 
the  Widower,  Jer  Keohane,  and  his  late  anta- 
gonist, the  one-legged  Con  Brickley.  In  view  of 
this  millennial  state  of  affairs  it  seemed  alarmingly 
probable  that  the  boat  which  had  come  for  us  was 
that  on  which,  as  on  a  pivot,  the  late  battle  had 
turned.  A  witness  had  said,  on  oath,  that  "if  it 
wasn't  for  the  weeds  that's  holding  her  together 
she'd  bursht  up  in  the  deep."  I  inspected  her 
narrowly,  and  was  relieved  to  see  that  the  weeds 
still  held  their  ground. 

A  mile  of  slatey  water  tumbled  between  us 
171 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  C^CM. 

and  the  island,  and  an  undue  proportion  of  it, 
highly  flavoured  by  fish,  flowed  in  uneasy  tides 
in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  with  a  final  disposition 
towards  the  well-laden  stern.  There  were  no 
bottom  boards,  and,  judging  by  the  depth  of  the 
flood  over  the  keel,  her  draught  appeared  to  be 
equal  to  that  of  a  racing  yacht.  We  sat  pre- 
cariously upon  strips  of  nine-inch  plank,  our  feet 
propped  against  the  tarred  sides  just  out  of  the 
wash ;  the  boat  climbed  and  wallowed  with  a 
three-cornered  roll,  the  dogs  panted  in  mingled 
nausea  and  agitation,  and  the  narrow  blades  of 
the  oars  dipped  their  frayed  edges  in  the  waves 
in  short  and  untiring  jerks. 

My  brother-in-law,  with  a  countenance  leaden 
magenta  from  cold,  struggled  with  the  whirling 
leaves  of  a  phrase  book.  He  was  tall  and  thin, 
of  the  famished  vegetarian  type  of  looks,  with 
unpractical,  prominent  eyes,  and  a  complexion 
that  on  the  hottest  day  in  summer  imparted  a 
chill  to  the  beholder ;  in  this  raw  November  wind 
it  was  a  positive  suffering  even  to  think  of  his 
nose,  and  my  eyes  rested,  in  unconscious  craving 
for  warmth,  upon  the  changeless,  impartial  red 
of  Con  Brickley's  monkey  face. 

We  landed  with  a  rush  on  the  steep  shingle  of 
a  sheltered  cove.  The  island  boasted  a  pier,  built 
with  "Relief"  money,  but  it  was  two  miles  from 

172 


The  Last  Day  of  Shraft 

the  lake  where  I  was  to  shoot,  and  this  small 
triangle  of  beach,  tucked  away  in  a  notch  of  the 
cliff,  was  within  ten  minutes'  walk  of  it.  At  the 
innermost  angle  of  the  cove,  where  the  notch 
ended  in  a  tortuous  fissure,  there  was  a  path  that 
zigzagged  to  the  top  of  the  cliff,  a  remarkably- 
excellent  path,  and  a  well-worn  one,  with  steps 
here  and  there.  I  commented  on  it  to  Mr. 
Brickley. 

"Why,  thin,  it  was  in  this  same  place  that  I 
losht  the  owld  leg,  sir,"  he  replied  in  his  sombre 
voice.  "  I  took  a  shlip  on  a  dark  night  and  me 
landlord  was  that  much  sorry  for  me  that  he 
made  a  good  pat'  in  it."  He  was  pitching  him- 
self up  the  steps  on  his  crutches  as  he  spoke,  an 
object  of  compassion  of  the  most  obvious  and 
silencing  sort.  Why,  then,  should  Peter  Cadogan 
smile  furtively  at  the  Widower? 

At  the  top  of  the  fissure,  where  it  melted  into 
a  hollow  between  low,  grassy  hills,  stood  the 
Brickleys'  cottage,  long,  low,  and  whitewashed, 
deep  in  shelter,  with  big  stones,  hung  in  halters 
of  hay-rope,  lying  on  its  thatch,  to  keep  the  roof 
on  in  the  Atlantic  gales.  A  thick  fuchsia  hedge 
surrounded  it;  from  its  open  door  proceeded 
sounds  of  furious  altercation  ;  apparently  a  man 
and  woman  hurling  invective  and  personalities 
at  each  other  in  Irish,  at  the  tops  of  their  voices. 

173 


Further   "Experiences  of  an  Irish  CR^M. 

Con  Brickley  sprang  forward  on  his  crutch,  a  girl 
at  the  door  vanished  into  the  house,  and  a  sudden 
silence  fell.  With  scarcely  a  perceptible  interval, 
Mrs.  Brickley  appeared  in  the  doorway,  a  red 
shawl  tied  over  her  rippling  grey  hair,  her 
manner  an  inimitable  blend  of  deference  and 
hospitality. 

"Your  Honour's  welcome,  Major  Yeates,"  she 
said  with  a  curtsey.  A  door  banged  at  the  back 
of  the  cottage.  "  That  was  a  poor  man  from 
across  the  water  that  came  apologisin'  to  me  for 
dhrawin'  me  name  down  in  a  little  disagreement 
that  he  had  about  a  settin'  o'  goose  eggs." 

I  suppose  that  it  was  contrition  that  caused  the 
apologist  to  stumble  heavily  as  he  came  round  the 
corner  of  the  house,  and  departed  at  a  tangent 
through  an  opening  in  the  fuchsia  hedge.  Feel- 
ing that  comment  on  the  incident  was  too  delicate 
a  matter  for  my  capacities,  I  introduced  Maxwell 
and  his  aspirations  to  the  lady  of  the  house. 
Any  qualms  that  I  might  have  had  as  to  how  to 
dispose  of  him  while  I  was  shooting  were  set  at 
rest  by  Mrs.  Brickley 's  instant  grasp  of  the  situa- 
tion. I  regret  to  say  that  I  can  neither  transcribe 
nor  translate  the  rolling  periods  in  which  my 
brother-in-law  addressed  himself  to  her.  I  have 
reason  to  believe  that  he  apostrophised  her  as 
"  O  worthy  woman  of  cows ! "  invoking  upon  her 

174 


The  Last  Day  of  Shraft 

and  her  household  a  comprehensive  and  classic 
blessing,  dating  from  the  time  of  Cuchulain.     * 

Mrs.  Brickley  received  it  without  a  perceptible 
stagger,  and  in  the  course  of  the  next  few  minutes, 
Miss  Bridget  Brickley  (who,  it  may  be  remem- 
bered, had  but  recently  renounced  the  office  of 
kitchenmaid  in  my  house)  emerged,  beautifully 
dressed,  from  the  cottage,  and  was  despatched,  at 
full  speed,  to  summon  Shemus  Ruadth,  the  poet, 
as  well  as  one  or  two  of  "the  neighbours"  re- 
puted to  speak  Irish  of  the  purest  kind.  If  to 
make  a  guest  feel  himself  to  be  the  one  person  in 
the  world  whose  welfare  is  of  any  importance  is 
the  aim  of  hostesses,  they  can  study  the  art  in  its 
perfection  under  the  smoky  rafters  of  Irish  cabins. 
If  it  is  insincere,  it  is  equally  to  be  respected ;  it 
is  often  amiable  to  be  insincere. 

My  own  share  of  the  day's  enjoyment  opened 
plausibly  enough,  though  not,  possibly,  as  cloud- 
lessly as  Maxwell's.  Attended  by  Maria,  Peter 
Cadogan,  and  the  Widower,  and  by  a  smell  of 
whisky  that  floated  to  me  on  the  chill  breeze  when 
the  Widower  was  to  windward,  I  set  forth,  having 
— as  I  fatuously  imagined — disposed  of  Minx 
and  of  her  intention  to  join  the  shooting-party, 
by  tying  a  stout  piece  of  cord  to  her  collar,  and 
placing  its  other  end  in  my  brother-in-law's  hand. 
I  had,  by  Flurry's  advice,  postponed  the  shooting 

175 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CI{JM. 

of  the  lake  till  the  last  thing  before  leaving  the 
island,  and  turning  my  back  upon  it,  I  tramped 
inland  along  half-thawed  marshes  in  search  of 
snipe,  and  crept  behind  walls  after  plover,  whose 
elusive  whistling  was  always  two  fields  ahead. 
After  an  unfruitful  hour  or  so  the  entertainment 
began  to  drag,  and  another  plan  of  campaign 
seemed  advisable :  I  made  a  cache  of  my  retinue 
behind  a  rock,  one  of  the  many  rocks  that  stood 
like  fossilised  mammoths  upon  the  ragged  hill 
slopes,  and,  with  Maria  at  my  heels,  accomplished 
a  long  and  laborious  detour.  At  length,  through 
the  crannies  of  a  wall,  I  perceived  just  within  shot 
a  stand  of  plover,  hopping,  gobbling,  squealing, 
quite  unaware  of  my  proximity.  I  cautiously  laid 
my  gun  on  the  top  of  the  wall.  As  I  cocked  it,  a 
white  form  appeared  on  a  fence  behind  the  birds, 
poised  itself  for  an  instant  with  elf-like  ears  spread 
wide,  then,  volleying  barks,  the  intolerable  Minx 
burst  like  a  firework  into  the  heart  of  the  plover. 
In  lightning  response  to  her  comrade's  tally-ho 
Maria  rocketted  over  the  wall ;  the  plover  rose  as 
one  man,  and,  as  I  missed  with  both  barrels, 
swirled  out  of  range  and  sight.  By  way,  I  sup- 
pose, of  rounding  off  the  jest  effectively,  Maria 
rushed  in  scientific  zigzags  through  the  field,  in 
search  of  the  bird  that  she  well  knew  I  had  not 
shot,   deaf  as  the  dead  to  words  of  command, 

176 


The  Last  Day  of  Shraft 

while  Minx,  stark  mad  with  excitement,  circled 
and  shrieked  round  Maria.  To  take  off  Maria's 
collar  and  thrash  her  heavily  with  the  buckle  end 
of  it  was  futile,  except  as  a  personal  gratification, 
but  I  did  it.  To  thrash  Minx  was  not  only- 
absurd  but  impossible ;  one  might  as  well  have 
tried  to  thrash  a  grasshopper. 

I  whistled  for  Peter  and  the  Widower  without 
avail,  and  finally,  in  just  indignation,  went  back  to 
look  for  them.  They  were  gone.  Not  a  soul  was 
in  sight.  I  concluded  that  they  had  gone  on  to- 
wards the  lake,  and  having  sacrificed  a  sandwich 
to  the  capture  of  Minx  I  coupled  her  to  Maria  by 
means  of  the  cord  that  still  trailed  from  her  collar, 
and  again  set  forth.  The  island  was  a  large  one, 
three  or  four  miles  long  by  nearly  as  many  wide ; 
I  had  opened  my  campaign  along  its  western 
shores,  where  heather  struggled  with  bog,  and 
stones,  big  and  little,  bestrewed  any  patch  sound 
enough  to  carry  them.  Here  and  there  were 
places  where  turf  had  been  cut  for  fuel,  leaving  a 
drop  like  a  sunk  fence  with  black  water  at  its 
foot,  a  matter  requiring  a  hearty  jump  on  to  what 
might  or  might  not  be  sound  landing.  When 
two  maniacs  are  unequally  yoked  together  by 
their  necks,  heartiness  and  activity  are  of  less 
importance  than  unanimity,  and  it  was  in  una- 
nimity that  Maria  and  Minx  chiefly  failed.     At 

177  M 


Further   "Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

such  moments,  profoundly  as  I  detested  Minx, 
my  sympathies  reluctantly  were  hers.  Conscious, 
as  are  all  little  dogs,  of  her  superior  astuteness, 
she  yet  had  to  submit  to  Maria's  choice  of  pace, 
to  Maria's  professional  quarterings  and  questings 
of  obviously  barren  tracts  of  bogland.  In  bursts 
of  squealing  fury  she  hung  from  Maria's  ear,  she 
tore  mouthfuls  of  brown  wool  from  her  neck,  she 
jibbed  with  all  her  claws  stuck  into  the  ground ; 
none  the  less  she  was  swept  across  the  ditches, 
and  lugged  over  the  walls,  in  seeming  oneness  of 
purpose,  in  total  and  preposterous  absurdity.  At 
one  juncture  a  snipe,  who  must,  I  think,  have 
been  deaf,  remained  long  enough  within  their 
sphere  of  action  for  me  to  shoot  him.  The 
couple,  unanimous  for  once,  charged  down  upon 
the  remains ;  the  corpse  was  secured  by  Maria, 
but  was  torn  piecemeal  from  her  jaws  by  Minx. 
They  then  galloped  emulously  back  to  me  for 
applause,  still  bitterly  contesting  every  inch  of  the 
snipe,  and,  having  grudgingly  relinquished  the 
fragments,  waited  wild-eyed  and  panting,  with 
tongues  hanging  like  aprons  to  their  knees. 

It  was  towards  the  close  of  the  incident  that  I 
was  aware  of  a  sibilant  whispering  near  me,  and 
found  that  I  was  being  observed  from  the  rear 
with  almost  passionate  interest,  by  two  little  girls 
and  a  pair  of  goats.     I  addressed  the  party  with 

178 


The  Last  Day  of  Shraft 

an  enquiry  as  to  whether  they  had  seen  Jer 
Keohane. 

The  biggest  little  girl  said  that  she  had  not 
seen  him,  but,  in  a  non  sequitur  full  of  intelligence, 
added  that  she  had  seen  Peter  Cadogan  a  while 
ago,  sitting  down  under  a  wall,  himself  and 
Pidge. 

"  What's  Pidge  ? "  said  I  cautiously.  "  Is  it  a 
dog?" 

"  Oh  Christians ! "  said  the  smaller  child,  swiftly 
covering  her  mouth  with  her  pinafore. 

The  elder,  with  an  untrammelled  grin,  explained 
that  "  Pidge "  was  the  name  by  which  my  late 
kitchenmaid  was  known  in  the  home  circle. 

I  postponed  comment  till  Peter  should  be  de- 
livered into  my  hand,  then,  rightly  concluding  that 
the  tendance  of  Hare  Island  goats  would  ensure 
the  qualities  necessary  for  dealing  with  even  Maria 
and  Minx,  I  engaged  the  pair  as  dog-boys. 

My  progress  from  this  point  to  the  lake  might 
have  been  taken  from  the  Old  Testament,  or  the 
Swiss  Family  Robinson.  In  front  of  me  paced 
the  goats,  who  had  sociably  declined  to  be  left 
out  of  the  expedition  ;  behind  me  strove  the  dogs, 
with  the  wiry  and  scarlet  ringers  of  their  attendants 
knotted  in  Mrs.  Brickley's  invaluable  piece  of 
string.  It  proved  to  be  a  thoroughly  successful 
working   arrangement ;    I    even   shot   a   plover, 

179 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  c^iM. 

which  was  retrieved  en  masse  by  all  except  the 
goats. 

In  complete  amity  we  reached  the  lake,  a  reedy 
strip  of  water  that  twisted  in  and  out  between  low 
hills,  its  indeterminate  shores  cloaked  with  reeds. 
It  was  now  past  three  o'clock,  and  the  cold  grey 
afternoon  was  already  heaping  into  the  west  the 
pile  of  dark  clouds  that  was  to  be  its  equivalent 
for  sunset.  I  crept  warily  forward  round  the  flank 
of  the  nearest  hill,  leaving  the  dogs  and  their 
keepers  in  death  grapple,  and  the  goats  snatching 
mouthfuls  of  grass  beside  them,  in  the  petulant, 
fractious  manner  of  goats,  that  so  ill  assorts  with 
their  Presbyterian  grey  beards. 

The  frost  had  been  preceded  by  a  flood,  and  the 
swamp  bordering  the  lake  was  very  bad  going ; 
the  tussocks  were  rotten,  the  holes  were  delusively 
covered  with  lids  of  white  ice,  and  to  traverse 
these  in  the  attitude  of  a  man  with  acute  lumbago 
was  no  light  matter.  But  the  ducks  were  there. 
I  could  hear  them  quacking  and  splashing  beyond 
the  screen  of  reeds,  and,  straightening  my  back 
for  an  observation,  caught  sight  of  four  or  five 
swimming  in  a  line,  well  within  range.  There 
was  not  an  instant  to  lose  ;  balancing  precariously 
on  a  tussock,  I  flung  up  my  gun  and  fired. 
Terrific  quacking  followed,  interspersed  by  distant 
and  heartrending  yells  from  the  dogs,  but  the  in- 

180 


maria's  performance  was  faultless 


The  Last  Day  of  Shraft 

explicable  feature  of  the  case  was  that  the  ducks 
did  not  rise  from  the  water.  Had  I  slain  the 
whole  crowd  ?  There  was  a  sound  as  if  the  marsh 
behind  me  was  being  slashed  with  a  flail ;  a  brown 
body  whizzed  past  me,  closely  followed  by  a  white 
one.  "  From  his  mountain  home  King  James  had 
rushing  come,"  in  other  words,  my  retrievers  had 
hurled  themselves  upon  their  prey. 

Maria's  performance  was  faultless ;  in  half  a 
minute  she  had  laid  a  bird  at  my  feet,  a  very  large 
pale  drake,  quite  unlike  any  wild  drake  that  I  had 
ever 

Out  of  the  silence  that  followed  came  a  thin, 
shrill  voice  from  the  hill : 

"Thim's  Mrs.  Brickley's  ducks!" 

In  horrid  confirmation  of  this  appalling  state- 
ment I  perceived  the  survivors  already  landing 
on  the  far  side  of  the  lake,  and  hurrying  home- 
ward up  the  hill  with  direful  clamours,  while  a 
wedge-shaped  ripple  in  the  grey  water  with  a 
white  speck  at  its  apex,  told  of  Minx  in  an  ecstasy 
of  pursuit. 

"Stop  the  dog!"  I  shouted  to  my  maids-of- 
honour,  "  run  round  and  catch  her ! " 

Maria  here,  in  irrepressible  appropriation  of  the 
mission,  bolted  between  my  legs,  and  sent  me  stag- 
gering backwards  into  a  very  considerable  boghole. 

I  will  not  labour  the  details.  After  some 
181 


Further    'Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

flounderings  I  achieved  safety  and  the  awe- 
stricken  comments  of  the  maids-of-honour,  as  wet 
as  I  have  ever  been  in  my  life,  and  about  five 
times  as  cold.  One  of  my  young  ladies  captured 
Minx  in  the  act  of  getting  ashore ;  the  other  col- 
lected the  slaughtered  drake  and  shrouded  him 
in  her  pinafore,  with  a  grasp  of  the  position  that 
did  credit  to  both  heart  and  head,  and  they  finally 
informed  me  that  Mrs.  Brickley's  house  was  only 
a  small  pieceen  away. 

I  had  left  Mrs.  Brickley's  house  a  well-equipped 
sportsman,  creditably  escorted  by  Peter  Cadogan 
and  the  Widower.  I  returned  to  it  a  muddy  and 
dripping  outcast,  attended  by  two  little  girls,  two 
goats,  and  her  own  eight  ducks,  whom  my  hand 
had  widowed.  My  sodden  clothes  clung  clammily 
about  me  ;  the  wind,  as  it  pierced  them,  carried 
with  it  all  the  iciness  of  the  boghole.  I  walked  at 
top  speed  to  get  up  some  semblance  of  a  circula- 
tion ;  I  should  have  run  were  it  not  for  the  confu- 
sion that  such  a  proceeding  would  have  caused  to 
my  cortege.  As  it  was,  the  ducks  fled  before  me 
in  waddling  panic,  with  occasional  help  from  their 
wings,  and  panting  and  pattering  in  the  rear  told 
that  the  maids-of-honour,  the  goats,  and  the  dogs 
were  maintaining  with  difficulty  their  due  places 
in  the  procession.  As  I  neared  the  cottage  I 
saw  a  boy  go  quickly  into  it  and  shut  the  door ; 

182 


The  Last  Day  of  Shraft 

I  passed  into  the  yard  within  the  fuchsia  hedge 
and  heard  some  one  inside  howling  and  droning 
a  song  in  Irish,  and  as  I  knocked,  with  frozen 
knuckles,  the  house  gave  the  indefinable  feeling 
of  being  full  of  people.  There  was  no  response  ; 
I  lifted  the  latch.  The  door  opened  into  the 
frieze-covered  backs  of  several  men,  and  an  evenly 
blended  smell  of  whisky,  turf  smoke,  and  crowded 
humanity  steamed  forth. 

The  company  made  way  for  me,  awkwardly ;  I 
noticed  a  tendency  amongst  them  to  hold  on  to 
each  other,  and  there  was  a  hilarious  light  in  Mrs. 
Brickley's  eye  as  she  hustled  forward  to  meet  me. 
My  brother-in-law  was  sitting  at  a  table  by  the 
window  writing  in  a  notebook  by  the  last  light  of 
the  waning  day ;  he  gave  me  a  glance  laden  with 
affairs  to  which  I  was  superfluous.  A  red-eyed, 
red-headed  man,  evidently  the  singer,  was  stand- 
ing in  the  middle  of  the  room  ;  it  must  have  been 
in  conformity  with  some  irresistible  law  of  nature 
that  his  hair  stood  out  round  his  head  in  the 
orthodox  poetic  aureole. 

In  spite  of  the  painful  publicity  of  the  moment 
there  was  but  one  course  open  to  me.  I  tendered 
to  my  hostess  the  corpse  of  the  drake,  with  abject 
apologies  and  explanations.  To  say  that  Mrs. 
Brickley  accepted  them  favourably  is  quite  inade- 
quate.    She  heaped  insults  upon  the  drake,  for 

183 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  I^M. 

his  age,  for  his  ugliness,  for  his  temerity  in  getting 
in  my  way  ;  she,  in  fact,  accepted  his  slaughter  in 
the  light  of  a  personal  favour  and  an  excellent  jest 
combined,  and  passed  rapidly  on  to  explain  that 
the  company  consisted  of  a  few  of  the  neighbours 
that  was  gathered  to  talk  to  the  gentleman,  and 
to  be  singing  "them  owld  songs"  for  him  ;  their 
number  and  their  zeal  being  entirely  due  to  the 
deep  personal  regard  entertained  for  me  by  Hare 
Island.  She  further  mentioned  that  it  was  Shrove 
Tuesday,  and  that  people  should  "  jolly  them- 
selves" before  Lent.  I  was  hurriedly  conveyed 
to  what  is  known  as  "  Back  in  the  room,"  a  blend 
of  best  parlour  and  bedroom,  with  an  immense  bed 
in  the  corner.  A  fire  was  lighted,  by  the  simple 
method  of  importing  most  of  the  kitchen  fire, 
bodily,  in  a  bucket,  and  placing  it  on  the  hearth, 
and  I  was  conjured  to  "sthrip"  and  to  put  on  a 
new  suit  of  clothes  belonging  to  my  host  while  my 
own  were  being  dried.  He  himself  valeted  me, 
inaugurating  the  ceremony  with  a  tumbler  of  hot 
whisky  and  water.  The  suit  of  new  clothes  was 
of  the  thickest  blue  cloth,  stiff  as  boards,  and  they 
smelt  horribly  of  stale  turf  smoke.  The  discovery 
that  the  trousers  consisted  of  but  a  leg  and  a  half 
was  startling ;  I  had  forgotten  this  aspect  of  the 
case,  but  now,  in  the  proprietor's  presence,  it  was 
impossible  to  withdraw  from  the  loan.     I  could, 

184 


tfhe  Last  Day  of  Shraft 

at  all  events,  remain  perdu.  Through  all  these 
preparations  I  was  aware  of  highly  incensed  and 
fruitless  callings  for  "  Pidge  "  ;  of  Peter  Cadogan 
no  tidings  were  forthcoming,  and  although  a  con- 
ventional sense  of  honour  withheld  me  from  dis- 
closing the  information  I  might  have  given  about 
the  young  lady,  it  did  not  deter  me  from  mentally 
preparing  a  warm  reception  for  her  squire. 

I  sat  by  the  fire  in  regal  seclusion,  with  my 
clothes  steaming  on  a  chair  opposite  to  me,  and 
the  strong  glow  of  the  red  turf  scorching  the  shin 
that  was  unprotected.  Maria  and  Minx,  also 
steaming,  sat  in  exquisite  serenity  in  front  of  the 
blaze,  retiring  every  now  and  then  to  fling  them- 
selves, panting,  on  a  cold  space  of  floor.  The 
hot  whisky  and  water  sent  its  vulgar  and  entirely 
acceptable  consolations  into  the  frozen  recesses 
of  my  being,  a  feeling  of  sociability  stole  upon 
me ;  I  felt  magnanimously  pleased  at  the  thought 
that  Maxwell,  at  least,  had  had  a  perfectly  suc- 
cessful day ;  I  glowed  with  gratitude  towards  Con 
Brickley  and  his  wife. 

Judged  by  the  usual  test  of  hostesses,  that  is  to 
say,  noise,  the  conversazione  in  Maxwell's  honour 
was  a  high  success.  Gabble  and  hum,  harangue 
and  argument,  and,  through  all,  Maxwell's  unemo- 
tional educated  voice  in  discussion  with  the  poet. 
Scraps  of  English  here  and  there  presently  told 

■85 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

me  that  the  talk  had  centred  itself  upon  the  tragedy 
of  the  drake.  I  had  the  gratification  of  hearing 
Mrs.  Brickley  inform  her  friends  that  "  if  that 
owld  dhrake  was  shot,  itself,  he  was  in  the  want 
of  it,  and  divil  mend  him,  going  parading  there 
till  he  had  the  Major  put  asthray !  Sure  that's  the 
gintleman  that's  like  a  child !  and  Pidge  could  tell 
ye  the  same." 

11  Faith  and  thrue  for  ye,"  said  another  apologist, 
also  female,  "and  ye  wouldn't  blame  him  if  he 
didn't  leave  duck  nor  dhrake  livin'  afther  him,  with 
the  annoyance  he  got  from  thim  that  should  be 
tinding  him,  and  he  bloated  with  the  walk  and  all !  " 

(I  may,  in  my  own  interest,  explain  that  this 
unattractive  description  merely  implied  that  I  was 
heated  from  excessive  exercise.) 

"And  as  for  the  same  Pidge,"  broke  in  Mrs. 
Brickley  with  sudden  fire,  "  when  I  ketch  her  it 
isn't  to  bate  her  I'll  go,  no !  but  to  dhrag  her  by 
the  hair  o'  the  head  round  the  kitchen." 

These  agreeable  anticipations  were  interrupted 
by  other  voices.  Some  one  named  Paddy  was 
called  upon  to  sing  the  song  about  Ned  Flaherty's 
drake. 

"Sing  up,  Paddy  boy,  for  the  gentleman!  Arrah, 
what  ails  ye,  Paddy  !     Don't  be  ashamed  at  all !  " 

"'Tis  a  lovely  song,  your  honour,  sir!"  (this  to 
my  brother-in-law). 

1 86 


THE   MODULATOR  OPENED   WITH   A   LONG-DRAWN   AND   NASAL  CADENZA 


The  Last  Day  of  Shraft 

"  Is  it  an  ancient  song  ? "  I  heard  Maxwell 
enquire  with  serious  eagerness. 

"  It  is,  your  honour ;  'twas  himself  made  it  up 
lasht  year,  and  he  sings  it  beautiful !  Oh !  Paddy's 
a  perfect  modulator ! " 

With  curiosity  stimulated  by  this  mysterious 
encomium  I  rose  softly  and  half  opened  the  door 
in  order  to  obtain  a  view  of  the  Modulator.  A 
lamp  with  a  glaring  tin  reflector  was  on  the  table 
beside  Maxwell ;  it  illumined  Paddy,  the  Modu- 
lator, an  incredibly  freckled  youth,  standing  in 
front  of  my  brother-in-law,  with  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground  and  arms  hanging  limply  at  his  sides,  like 
a  prisoner  awaiting  sentence.  It  illumined  also 
the  artistic  contempt  on  the  elder  Poet's  counte- 
nance, and  further  revealed  to  me  the  fact  that 
from  twenty-five  to  thirty  men  and  women  were 
packed  into  the  small  kitchen. 

The  Modulator  opened  with  a  long-drawn  and 
nasal  cadenza,  suggestive  of  the  droning  pre- 
liminary canter  of  a  bagpipe,  which  merged  into 
the  statement  that 


The  poor  little  fella', 

His  legs  they  were  yella', 
His  bosom  was  blue,  he  could  swim  like  a  hake ; 

But  some  wicked  savage, 

To  grease  his  white  cabbage, 
Murdered  Ned  Flaherty's  beautiful  dhrake  ! 
I87 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CR^M. 

Riotous  applause  followed  on  this  startlingly 
appropriate  requiem.  Maxwell  coldly  laid  down 
his  stylograph  with  the  manner  of  a  reporter 
during  an  unimportant  speech ;  the  Poet  took  a 
clay  pipe  out  of  his  pocket  and  examined  its  con- 
tents with  an  air  of  detachment ;  Paddy,  with  a 
countenance  of  undiminished  gloom,  prepared 
the  way  for  the  next  verse  with  some  half-dozen 
jig-steps,  ending  with  a  sledge-hammer  stamp  on 
the  earthen  floor.  Fresh  thunders  of  approval 
greeted  the  effort.  It  seemed  to  me  that  Con 
Brickley's  hospitality  had  been  a  trifle  excessive  ; 
I  even  meditated  a  hint  to  that  effect,  but  neither 
my  host  nor  my  hostess  was  visible.  They  were 
apparently  holding  an  overflow  meeting  in  a 
room  at  the  other  end  of  the  house,  and  I  noticed 
that  although  there  was  a  steady  flow  of  passers 
in  and  out  between  it  and  the  kitchen,  the  door 
was  carefully  closed  after  each  opening. 

Suddenly  the  lamp  on  Maxwell's  table  flared 
up  smokily  as  the  door  of  the  house  was  burst 
open.  The  second  verse  of  the  drake's  elegy 
ceased  at  its  first  line.  A  woman  whom  I  recog- 
nised as  Kate  Keohane,  sister  of  the  Widower, 
drove  her  way  into  the  kitchen,  sweeping  back 
the  people  on  either  side  of  her  with  her  arms, 
as  though  she  was  swimming.      Her  face  was 

scarlet. 

188 


The  Last  Day  of  Shraft 

"  Is  Jer  Keohane  within  here?"  she  shouted. 

"He  is  not ! "  replied  several  voices. 

Instantly  the  door  of  the  inner  room  flew  open, 
and  like  a  stag  (or  a  tom-cat,  either  simile  would 
serve),  answering  the  challenge  of  a  rival,  Mrs. 
Brickley  came  forth. 

"Is  it  yer  brother  you're  wantin',  ma'am ? "  she 
said  with  lofty  politeness.  "  Ye  can  search  out 
the  house  for  him  if  ye  like.  It's  little  he  troubles 
my  house  or  myself  now,  thanks  be  to  God,  and 
to  the  Magistrates  that  took  my  part  before  all 
that  was  in  the  Coort-house !  Me  that  he  had 
goin'  in  dhread  o'  me  life,  with  him  afther  me 
always  in  me  thrack  like  a  lap-dog ! " 

"  And  who  has  him  enticed  now  but  your  own 
daughther?"  shrieked  Miss  Keohane  with  lightning 
rapidity.  M  Isn't  Ellen,  the  Chapel-woman,  afther 
tellin'  me  she  seen  herself  and  himself  shneakin' 
down  behindside  the  chapel,  like  they'd  be  goin' 
aisht  to  the  far  sthrand,  and  she  dhressed  out,  and 
the  coat  she  stole  from  Mrs.  Yeates  on  her  and  a 
bundle  in  her  hand!  Sure  doesn't  the  world 
know  she  has  her  passage  paid  to  Ameriky  this 
two  months !  " 

"  Ye  lie ! "  panted  Mrs.  Brickley,  catching  her 
antagonist  by  the  arm,  not  in  attack,  but  in  the 
the  awful  truce  of  mutual  panic. 

Miss  Keohane  flung  her  off,  only  the  better  to 
189 


Further   "Experiences  of  an  Irish  %^M. 

gather  force  for  the  prolonged  and  direful  howl 
of  which  she  delivered  herself. 

"If  she  didn't  come  here  with  him  it's  to 
Ameriky  she's  taken  him  !  Look  in  yer  box  an' 
ye'll  see  where  she  got  the  passage  money  !  She 
has  the  boat's  share  taken  from  ye  in  spite  of  yer 
teeth  ! "  Miss  Keohane  here  dropped  upon  her 
knees.  "  An'  I  pray,"  she  continued,  lyrically, 
"  that  the  devil  may  melt  her,  the  same  as  ye'd 
melt  the  froth  off  porther " 

Groans,  hoots,  and  drunken  laughter  over- 
whelmed the  close  of  this  aspiration.  Oblivious 
of  my  costume,  I  stepped  forward,  with  the  in- 
tention of  attracting  Maxwell's  attention,  and 
withdrawing  him  and  myself  as  swiftly  and  un- 
obtrusively as  possible  from  a  position  that 
threatened  to  become  too  hot  to  hold  us. 

Even  as  I  did  so,  I  saw  in  the  dark  blue  space 
of  the  open  door  a  face  that  was  strangely  familiar, 
a  face  at  once  civilised  and  martial,  whose  gaze 
was  set  incredulously  upon  me. 

"  Here's  the  Polis!  "  squeaked  a  little  girl. 

The  poet  blew  out  the  lamp.  The  house  was 
in  an  instant  full  of  the  voiceless  and  strenuous 
shoving  and  trampling  of  people  trying  to  escape. 
I  heard  the  table  go  over  with  a  crash,  and  could 
only  suppose  that  Maxwell  had  gone  with  it,  and 
Maria  and  Minx,  convinced  that  a  cat-hunt  was 

190 


The  Last  Day  of  Shraft 

at  the  root  of  the  matter,  barked  deafeningly  and 
unceasingly. 

In  a  blinding  flash  of  insight  I  realised  that  my 
brother-in-law  and  I  had  been  taken  red-handed 
in  a  "  Shebeen,"  that  is  to  say,  a  house  in  which 
drink  is  illicitly  sold  without  a  license. 

The  Police  Sergeant  was  egregiously  tactful. 
During  the  conversation  that  I  held  with  him 
in  the  inner  room  he  did  not  permit  his  eye  to 
condescend  lower  than  the  top  button  of  Mr. 
Brickley's  coat,  a  consideration  that  but  served 
to  make  me  more  conscious  of  the  humiliating 
deficiency  below,  nor  did  it  deviate  towards  the 
empty  tumbler,  with  the  incriminating  spoon  in 
it,  that  stood  on  the  table. 

He  explained  to  me  and  to  Maxwell,  whose 
presence  I  felt  to  be  my  sole  link  with  respect- 
ability, that  the  raid  had  been  planned  in  con- 
sequence of  information  received  after  the 
trial. 

"  I  was  going  to  you,  sir,  to  sign  the  warrant, 
but  Mr.  Knox  and  Dr.  Hickey  signed  it  for  us. 
It  was  Mr.  Knox  advised  us  to  come  here  to-day. 
We've  found  three  half-barrels  of  porter  under 
the  bed  in  the  room  over  there,  and  about  two 
gallons  of  potheen  hid  under  fishing  nets.  I'll 
have  about  thirty  summonses  out  of  it." 

The  Sergeant's  manner  was  distressingly 
191 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  "I^M. 


apologetic.  I  said  nothing,  but  my  heart  burned 
within  me  as  I  recognised 
the  hand  of  Flurry  Knox. 

"In  case  you  might  be 
looking  for  your  man  Cado- 
gan,  sir,"  went  on  the  Ser- 
geant, "we  seen  him  in  a 
boat,  with  two  other  parties, 
a  man  and  a  woman,  going 
to  the  mainland  when  we 
were  coming  over.  The  man 
that  was  pulling  the  other 
oar  had  the  appearance  of 
having  drink  taken." 

A  second  flash,  less  blind- 
ing than  the  first,  but  equally 
illuminative,  revealed  to  me 
that  the  brown  boots,  the 
flannel  suit,  had  been  a 
wedding  garment,  the  pre- 
determined attire  of  the  Best 
Man,  and  a  third  recalled 
the  sergeant's  manner  was  the  fact  that   Shrove  Tues- 

DISTRESSINGLY   APOLOGETIC        ,  .«         •         .    j  . 

day  was  the  last  day  between 
this  and  Easter  on  which  a  marriage  could  take 
place. 

Maxwell  and  I  went  back  with  the  police,  and 
Maxwell  explained    to    me   at   some  length  the 

192 


The  hast  Day  of  Shraft 

origin  of  the  word  shebeen.  As  I  neared  the 
mainland,  which  to-morrow  would  ring  with 
Flurry's  artistic  version  of  the  day's  events,  the 
future  held  but  one  bright  spot,  the  thought  of 
putting  Peter  Cadogan  to  fire  and  sword. 

But  even  that  was  denied  to  me.  It  must 
have  been  at  the  identical  moment  that  my  cook, 
Mrs.  Cadogan  (aunt  of  the  missing  Peter),  was 
placing  her  wedding  ring  in  the  Shrove  Tuesday 
pancakes  that  evening,  that  my  establishment 
was  felled  as  one  man  by  tidings  that  still  remain 
preeminent  among  the  sensations  of  Shreelane. 
They  reached  me,  irrepressibly,  with  the  coffee. 

Hard  on  the  heels  of  the  flushed  parlour-maid 
followed  the  flat  and  heavy  tread  of  Mrs.  Cadogan, 
who,  like  the  avenging  deities,  was  habitually  shod 
with  felt. 

"  And  now,  sir,  what  do  ye  say  to  Pether 
Cadogan ! "  she  began,  launching  the  enigma 
into  space  from  the  obscurity  of  the  deep  door- 
way. "  What  do  ye  say  to  him  now  ?  The 
raving  scamp ! " 

I  replied  that  I  had  a  great  deal  to  say  to  him, 
and  that  if  I  might  so  far  trespass  on  his  leisure 
as  to  request  his  presence  in  the  hall,  I  would 
say  it. 

"Hall  is  it!"  echoed  Peter's  aunt  in  bitter 
wrath.     "It's  my  heart's  grief  that  he  ever  stood 

193  N 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

in  Shreelane  hall  to  dhraw  disgrace  on  me  and 
on  yer  Honour!  God  forgive  me,  when  I  heard 
it  I  had  to  spit !  Himself  and  Bridget  Brickley 
got  married  in  Skebawn  this  evenin',  and  the 
two  o'  them  is  gone  to  Ameriky  on  the  thrain 
to-night,  and  it's  all  I'll  say  for  her,  whatever 
sort  of  a  thrash  she  is,  she's  good  enough  for 
him !  "  There  was  a  pause  while  one  might  pant 
twice. 

"  I'll  tell  ye  no  lie.  If  I  had  a  gun  in  me  hand, 
I'd  shoot  him  like  a  bird  !     I'd  down  the  brat ! " 

The  avenging  deity  retired. 

What  part  the  Widower  proposed  to  play  in 
the  day's  proceedings  will  never  be  clearly  known. 
He  was  picked  up  next  day  in  Hare  Island  Sound, 
drifting  seaward  in  the  boat  whose  "  share  "  had 
formed  the  marriage  portion  of  Mrs.  Peter  Cado- 
gan.  Both  oars  were  gone ;  there  remained  to 
him  an  empty  bottle  of  "  potheen,"  and  a  bucket. 
He  was  rowing  the  boat  with  the  bucket. 


194 


VIII 

"A  HORSE!    A  HORSE!" 

Part  I 

"Old  Jimmy  Porteous!"  I  ejaculated,  while  a 
glow  of  the  ancient  enthusiasm  irradiated  my 
bosom,  "  Philippa,  I  say !  Do  you  see  this  ? 
Jimmy  Porteous  is  to  command  this  District! " 

"  No,  darling,  not  with  an  egg ! "  replied 
Philippa,  removing  the  honey  spoon  from  the 
grasp  of  her  youngest  child,  just  too  late  to  avert 
disaster,  "  we  don't  eat  honey  with  eggs." 

The  heavy  hand  of  experience  has  taught  me 
that  at  moments  such  as  these  the  only  possible 
course  is  to  lie  to.  head  to  wind,  till  the  squall 
passes,  and  then  begin  from  the  beginning  again. 
I  readdressed  myself  to  my  newspaper,  while  the 
incident  went,  like  a  successful  burlesque,  with  a 
roar,  sustained  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs  to  the 
point  when  the  nursery  door  slammed  upon  it. 

Philippa  resumed  her  seat  at  the  breakfast 
table. 

"  Yes,  dear,  what  were  you  saying  ?  "  she  said, 
195 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CR^M. 

yielding  me  the  laborious  but  vague  attention  that 
is  the  best  any  husband  can  expect  from  any  wife 
on  such  occasions. 

I  repeated  my  statement,  and  was  scandalised 
to  find  that  Philippa  had  but  the  most  shadowy 
remembrance  of  Jimmy  Porteous,  who,  in  the  days 
when  I  first  joined  my  regiment  had  been  its 
senior  subaltern,  and,  for  me  and  my  fellows,  one 
of  the  most  revered  of  its  law-givers.  As  a 
captain  he  left  us,  and  proceeded  to  do  something 
brilliant  on  somebody's  staff,  and,  what  time  I  got 
my  company,  had  moved  on  in  radiance  into  a 
lofty  existence  in  the  War  Office  and  newspaper 
paragraphs. 

I  recalled  these  things  to  my  wife,  coupling 
them  with  the  information  that  she  would  have 
to  call  on  Lady  Porteous,  when  the  door  opened, 
and  the  face  of  Flurry  Knox,  unshaven  and  blue, 
with  the  miserable  mother-o'-pearl  blueness  of  fair 
people  in  cold  weather,  appeared  in  the  opening. 

He  had  looked  in,  he  said,  on  his  way  home 
from  the  fair,  to  try  would  we  give  him  a  cup  of 
tea,  and  he  went  on  to  remark  that  the  wind  was 
cold  enough  to  cut  the  horns  off  a  cow. 

I  asked  him  if  he  had  seen  my  beasts  there, 
and  if  they  had  been  sold. 

"Oh,  they  were,  they  were,"  he  said  tolerantly; 
"  it  was  a  wonderful  good  fair.     The  dealers  were 

196 


*e#  Horse!   zA  Horse!" 

buying  all  before  them.  There  was  a  man  said  to 
me,  '  If  you  had  a  little  dog  there,  and  he  to  be  a 
calf,  you'd  have  sold  him.' " 

It  was  one  of  Flurry  Knox's  ruling  principles 
in  life  to  disparage  the  live  stock  of  his  friends ; 
it  was  always  within  the  bounds  of  possibility  that 
the  moment  might  arrive  when  he  would  wish  to 
buy  them. 

"  I  met  a  man  from  Sir  Thomas  Purcell's 
country  yesterday,"  said  Flurry  presently  ;  "  he 
says  there's  been  the  father  and  mother  of  a 
row  down  there  between  old  Sir  Thomas  and 
Hackett,  that's  the  man  has  the  harriers.  Sir 
Thomas  is  wild  because  they  say  the  soldiers  are 
giving  Hackett  as  good  a  subscription  as  himself, 
and  he  says  Hackett  has  all  the  foxes  killed." 

"But  surely — harriers  don't  hunt  foxes?"  said 
Philippa  ingenuously. 

Flurry  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  in  silence. 
"  Is  it  Hackett's  harriers  ! "  he  said  compas- 
sionately;  "sure  he  flogs  them  off  hares." 

"  Talking  of  soldiers,  they've  just  sent  a  man 
who  used  to  be  in  my  regiment  to  command  this 
district,"  I  said,  plucking  my  own  topic  from  the 
tangle  of  inter-hunt  squabbles ;  "  a  great  man  to 
hounds  he  used  to  be,  too." 

"  Would  he  buy  the  Dodger  ? "  asked  Flurry 
swiftly.     "  Would  he  give  a  price  ? " 

197 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

"  I  daresay  he  would  if  he  liked  the  horse.  If 
I  got  a  chance  I  might  tell  him,"  I  said,  magna- 
nimously. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Major,"  said  Flurry,  with  an 
eye  on  his  ally,  Philippa,  "you  and  me  and  Mrs. 
Yeates  will  go  up  and  have  a  day  with  Sir 
Thomas's  hounds,  and  you'll  say  the  word  for  me 
to  the  General ! " 

Looking  back  at  it  all  now,  I  recognise  that 
here  was  the  moment  for  firmness.  I  let  the 
moment  slip,  and  became  immersed  in  tracking 
General  Sir  James  Porteous,  K.C.B.,  through  the 
pages  of  an  elderly  Army  List.  By  the  time  I 
had  located  him  in  three  separate  columns,  I 
found  that  Philippa  and  Flurry  had  arranged  un- 
alterably the  details  of  what  my  wife  is  pleased  to 
call  a  ramp — i.e.  an  expedition  that,  as  its  name 
implies,  suggests  a  raid  made  by  tramps. 

H — Why,  my  gracious!  aren't  they  cousins  of 
my  own  ?  They'll  be  only  delighted !  Sure,  Sally 
had  measles  there  three  years  ago,  and  'twas  as 
good  as  a  play  for  them ! — Put  us  up,  is  it  ?  Of 
course  they  will!  The  whole  lot  of  us.  D'ye 
think  Sally 'd  stay  at  home  ? — No,  you'll  not  take 
your  own  horses  at  all.  Hire  from  Flavin ;  I'll 
see  he  does  you  well." 

"And  you  know,  Sinclair" — thus  the  other 
conspirator — "it  would  be   an   excellent  chance 

198 


"<^  Horse!   <*A  Horse!" 

for    you    to    meet    your    beloved    Jimmy    Por- 
teous ! " 

It  was  not  Mr.  Knox's  habit  to  let  the  grass 
grow  under  his  feet.  Before  I  had  at  all  grasped 
the  realities  of  the  project,  my  wife  heard  from 
Mrs.  Sally  Knox  to  say  that  she  had  arranged  it 
all  with  the  Butler- Knoxes,  and  that  we  were  to 
stay  on  for  a  second  night  in  order  to  go  to  a 
dance  at  which  we  should  meet  the  General.  At 
intervals  during  the  following  week  I  said  to 
Philippa  that  it  was  preposterous  and  monstrous 
to  dump  ourselves  upon  the  Butler-Knoxes,  un- 
known people  whom  we  had  but  once  met  at  a 
function  at  the  Bishop's.  My  remembrance  of 
them,  though  something  blurred  by  throngs  of  the 
clergy  and  their  wives,  did  not  suggest  the  type 
of  person  who  might  be  expected  to  keep  open 
house  for  stray  fox-hunters.  I  said  all  this  to 
Philippa,  who  entirely  agreed  with  me,  and  con- 
tinued her  preparations,  after  the  manner  of 
experienced  wives. 

It  was  raining  hard  one  afternoon  in  the  follow- 
ing week  when  a  four-wheeled  inside  car — an 
admirable  vehicle,  which  I  wish  in  no  way  to 
disparage — disgorged  its  burden  at  the  door  of 
Garden  Mount  House.  One  item  of  the  burden 
was  experiencing  a  sensation  only  too  familiar, 
such  a  sensation  as  a  respectable  seaman  might 

199 


Further   'Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

feel  on  being  pressed  into  a  crew  of  buccaneers. 
The  house  loomed  over  us,  large,  square,  and 
serious,  in  the  wet  moonlight  of  the  January 
evening ;  the  husky,  over-fed  bark  of  an  elderly 
dog  was  incessant  in  the  hall.  If  by  laying  hold 
of  the  coat-tails  of  the  leading  pirate,  as  he  got 
out  to  ring  the  bell,  I  could  then  and  there  have 
brought  the  expedition  to  a  close,  I  would  thank- 
fully have  done  so. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  melancholy  old 
gentleman  with  a  grey  moustache  and  whiskers ; 
he  might  have  been  Colonel  Newcome  in  his  de- 
cadence, but  from  the  fact  that  he  wore  an  evening 
coat  and  grey  trousers,  I  gathered  that  he  was 
the  butler,  and  for  any  one  skilled  in  Irish  house- 
holds, he  at  once  placed  the  establishment — rich, 
godly,  low  church,  and  consistently  and  con- 
tentedly dull.  As  we  entered  the  hall  there  arose 
from  some  fastness  in  the  house  a  shrill  clamour 
that  resolved  itself  into  the  first  line  of  a  hymn. 

Flurry  dug  me  in  the  ribs  with  his  elbow. 
"They've  found!"  he  whispered,  "you  needn't 
look  so  frightened.  It's  only  Lucy  and  Louisa 
having  the  choir  practice ! " 

To  these  strains  Colonel  Newcome  ushered  us 
into  the  drawing-room.  There  was  no  one  in  it. 
It  was  a  large  double  drawing-room,  and  nothing 
but  heavy  maroon  curtains  now  separated  us  from 

200 


<  Vf  Horse  !   <*A  Horse  !  " 

the  choir  practice.  The  hymn  continued,  a  loud 
and  long-drawn  proclamation,  and,  pending  its 
conclusion,  my  wife  and  Mrs.  Flurry  Knox  swiftly 
and  stealthily  circumnavigated  the  room,  and  ap- 
praised all  its  contents,  from  a  priceless  Battersea 
basket  filled  with  dusty  bulbs,  to  a  Chippendale 
card-table  with  a  sewing  machine  clamped  on  to 
it,  while  Flurry,  in  a  stage  whisper,  dilated  to  me 
upon  the  superfluous  wealth  that  Providence  had 
seen  fit  to  waste  upon  the  Butler- Knoxes.  The 
household,  as  I  had  gradually  learnt,  consisted 
of  an  elderly  bachelor,  Mr.  Lucius  Butler-Knox 
(commonly  known  as  "Looshy"),  his  unmarried 
sister,  Miss  Louisa,  his  widowed  sister,  Mrs.  Hod- 
nett,  and  a  corpulent,  grey-muzzled  black-and-tan 
terrier.  Their  occupations  were  gardening,  and 
going  to  what  they  called  u  the  city,"  i.e.  the 
neighbouring  county  town,  to  attend  charitable 
committee  meetings  ;  they  kept  a  species  of  philan- 
thropic registry  office  for  servants ;  their  foible 
was  hospitality,  disastrously  coupled  with  the  fact 
that  they  dined  at  half- past  six.  It  was  one  of 
the  mysteries  of  kinship  that  Flurry  Knox  and 
our  host  and  hostess  should  possess  a  nearer 
relative  in  common  than  Adam.  That  he  should 
have  established  their  respectable  home  as  his 
hostelry  and  house  of  call  was  one  of  the  mysteries 
of  Flurry  Knox. 

20I 


Further  Experiences  of  an   Irish  ^M. 

The  hymn  ceased,  the  raiders  hastily  formed 
into  line,  the  maroon  drapery  parted,  and  the  ladies 
of  the  house,  flushed  with  song,  and  importing 
with  them  a  potent  sample  of  the  atmosphere  of 
the  back  drawing-room,  were  upon  us,  loud  in 
hospitable  apologies,  instant  in  offers  of  tea ;  the 
situation  opened  and  swallowed  us  up. 

The  half-past  six  o'clock  dinner  came  all  too 
swiftly.  Glared  upon  by  an  unshaded  lamp  that 
sat  like  a  ball  of  fire  in  the  centre  of  the  table, 
we  laboured  in  the  trough  of  a  sea  of  the  thickest 
ox-tail  soup ;  a  large  salmon  followed ;  with  the 
edge  of  dubious  appetite  already  turned,  we  saw 
the  succeeding  items  of  the  menu  spread  forth  on 
the  table  like  a  dummy  hand  at  bridge.  The 
boiled  turkey,  with  its  satellite  ham,  the  roast 
saddle  of  mutton,  with  its  stable  companion  the 
stack  of  cutlets ;  the  succeeding  course,  where  a 
team  of  four  wild  duck  struggled  for  the  lead  with 
an  open  tart  and  a  sago  pudding.  Like  Agag, 
we  went  delicately,  and,  like  Agag,  it  availed  us 
nothing. 

I  watched  my  vis-a-vis,  little  Mrs.  Flurry,  fur- 
tively burying  a  slab  of  turkey  beneath  mashed 
potatoes  as  neatly  as  a  little  dog  buries  a  bone ; 
her  green  kitten's  eyes  met  mine  without  a  change 
of  expression,  and  turned  to  her  glass,  which 
Colonel  Newcome  had  filled  with  claret.     "The 

202 


"id  Horse!   t£  Horse!" 

beaded  bubbles,  winking  at  the  brim,"  had  a 
greyish  tinge. 

"Cousin  Lucius !"  observed  Mrs.  Flurry,  in  a 
silence  that  presently  happened  to  fall,  "  can  you 
remember  who  painted  that  picture  of  our 
great-grandfather  —  the  one  over  the  door  I 
mean  ?  " 

Mr.  Butler- Knox,  a  small,  grey-bearded,  elderly 
gentleman,  wholly,  up  to  the  present,  immersed 
in  carving,  removed  the  steam  of  the  ducks  from 
his  eye-glasses,  and  concentrated  them  upon  the 
picture. 

"  It's  by  Maclise,  isn't  it? "  went  on  Sally,  lean- 
ing forward  to  get  a  nearer  view. 

In  that  moment,  when  all  heads  turned  to  the 
picture,  I  plainly  saw  her  draw  the  glass  of  claret 
to  the  verge  of  the  table,  it  disappeared  beneath 
it  and  returned  to  its  place  empty.  Almost  simul- 
taneously, the  black-and-tan  terrier  sprang  from 
a  lair  near  my  feet,  and  hurried  from  the  room, 
shaking  his  ears  vigorously.  Mrs.  Flurry's  eyes 
wavered  from  the  portrait  to  mine,  and  her  face 
became  slowly  and  evenly  pink,  like  an  after- 
glow. 

It  was  but  one  of  the  many  shameless  acts  of  my 
party  during  the  age-long  evening.  At  ten  o'clock 
we  retired  to  rest,  for  my  own  part,  thoroughly 
overfed,  not  in  the  least  sleepy,  worn  with  con- 

203 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CE{.M. 

versation,  and  oppressed  by  the  consciousness  of 
flippant,  even  brutal,  ingratitude. 

The  weather  had  cleared  next  morning  to  mild 
greyness,  that  softened  even  the  asperity  of  half- 
past  eight  breakfast.  I  lumbered  stiffly  down- 
stairs in  a  pair  of  new  butcher  boots,  and  found 
with  thankfulness  that  our  hosts,  exhausted  pos- 
sibly by  their  efforts,  had  kept  their  rooms. 

Marshalled  in  order  upon  the  sideboard  stood 
the  remains  of  all  the  more  enduring  items  of  last 
night's  dinner,  cold  indeed,  but  firm  and  unde- 
feated ;  hot  dishes  of  ancient  silver  roasted  before 
the  noble  brass-mounted  fireplace  ;  there  were  vats 
of  lethargic  cream,  a  clutch  of  new-laid  eggs,  a 
heap  of  hot  scones. 

"It's  easy  seen  it  wasn't  cracking  blind  nuts 
made  Lucy  Hodnett  and  Louisa  the  size  they 
are !  "  remarked  Flurry,  as  the  party,  feeling  more 
piratical  than  ever,  embarked  upon  this  collation. 
"  Mrs.  Yeates,  do  you  think  I  am  bound  to  dance 
with  the  pair  of  them  to-night  ?  You  are,  Major, 
anyway !     But  I  might  get  off  with  Louisa." 

"  Oh,  Sinclair's  card  is  full,"  said  my  wife,  who 
was  engaged  in  trying  to  decipher  the  marks  on 
the  cream  jug  without  upsetting  the  cream  ;  "  he 
and  the  General  are  plighted  to  one  another  for 
the  evening." 

"  I  wonder  if  the  claret  has  stained  the  carpet ! " 
204 


"e^f  Horse  !   *i  Horse  !  " 

said  Mrs.  Flurry,  diving  under  the  table.  "It 
has !  How  awful ! "  Mrs.  Flurry's  voice  indicated 
the  highest  enjoyment.  "  Never  mind,  they'll 
never  see  it !  They're  too  fat  to  get  under  the 
table!" 

"If  they  did,  it'd  be  the  first  time  old  Looshy's 
claret  ever  put  anyone  there  ! "  said  Flurry. 

We  have  never  known  the  precise  moment 
in  this  speech  at  which  "  Old  Looshy's "  butler 
entered  the  room  ;  we  only  know  that  while  Mrs. 
Flurry,  much  hampered  by  habit  and  boots,  was 
in  the  act  of  struggling  from  beneath  the  table, 
he  was  there,  melancholy  and  righteous,  with  a 
telegram  on  a  salver. 

It  was  from  Flavin,  the  livery  stableman,  and 
its  effect  upon  the  spirits  of  the  company  was  that 
of  a  puncture  in  a  tyre. 

"  Regret  horses  not  available  ;  am  trying  to  pro- 
cure others  ;  will  send  by  next  train  if  possible." 

We  said  that  there  was  no  answer,  and  we 
finished  our  breakfasts  in  a  gravity  scarcely 
lightened  by  Flurry's  almost  religious  confidence 
in  Flavin's  infallibility,  and  in  his  power  of  making 
horses  out  of  rushes,  like  the  fairies,  if  need  be. 

I  was,  I  may  admit,  from  the  first  thoroughly 
pessimistic.  I  almost  went  up  and  got  into  ordi- 
nary clothes ;  I  at  least  talked  of  doing  so,  as  a 
means  of  preparing   Philippa  for  the  worst.      I 

205 


Further   'Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

said  it  was  a  mere  waste  of  time  to  send  the 
Butler-Knox  coachman  to  the  station,  as  had  been 
arranged,  and  I  did  my  best  to  dissuade  Flurry 
from  his  intention  of  riding  to  the  meet  by  way 
of  the  station  to  help  in  unboxing  animals  that 
could  not  possibly  be  there. 

In  abysmal  dejection  my  wife  and  I  surveyed 
the  departing  forms  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Florence 
Knox ;  the  former  on  the  Dodger,  a  leggy  brown 
four-year-old,  the  planting  of  whom  upon  General 
Porteous  had  been  the  germ  of  the  expedition ; 
while  Sally  skipped  and  sidled  upon  a  narrow, 
long-tailed  chestnut  mare,  an  undefeated  jumper, 
and  up  to  about  as  much  weight  as  would  go  by 
parcel  post  for  ninepence.  There  then  ensued  a 
period  of  total  desolation,  in  which  we  looked 
morosely  at  old  photograph  books  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  faced  the  prospect  of  a  long  day  with 
the  Butler- Knoxes,  while  heavy  footsteps  over- 
head warned  us  that  our  entertainers  were  astir, 
and  that  at  any  moment  the  day's  conversation 
might  begin. 

I  was  engaged,  not,  I  fancy,  for  the  first  time, 
in  telling  Philippa  that  I  had  always  said  that  the 
entire  expedition  was  a  mistake,  when  Colonel 
Newcome  again  entered  the  room. 

"The  Master  sent  me  to  ask  you,  sir,  if  you'd 
like  to  have  the  pony-phaeton  to  drive  down  to 

206 


"<^  Horse!    U  Horse!" 

the  station  to  meet  the  half-past  ten  train.  Flavin 
might  be  sending  the  horses  on  it,  and  it'd  save 
you  time  to  meet  them  there." 

We  closed  with  the  offer ;  at  its  worst,  the 
pony-carriage  could  be  smoked  in,  which  the 
drawing-room  could  not ;  at  its  best,  it  might 
save  half-an-hour  in  getting  to  the  meet.  We 
presently  seated  ourselves  in  it,  low  down  behind 
an  obese  piebald  pony,  with  a  pink  nose,  and  a 
mane  hogged  to  the  height  of  its  ears.  As  I 
took  up  the  whip  it  turned  and  regarded  us 
with  an  unblinkered  eye,  pink-lidded  and  small 
as  a  pig's. 

"  You  should  go  through  Fir  Grove,  sir,"  said 
the  boy  who  had  brought  the  equipage  to  the 
door,  "  it's  half  a  mile  of  a  short  cut,  and  that's 
the  way  Tom  will  come  with  the  horses.  It's  the 
first  gate-lodge  you'll  meet  on  the  road." 

The  mud  was  deep,  and  the  piebald  pony 
plodded  through  it  at  a  sullen  jog.  The  air  was 
mild  and  chilly,  like  an  uninteresting  woman  ; 
the  fore-knowledge  of  fiasco  lay  heavily  upon  us ; 
it  hardly  seemed  worth  while  to  beat  the  pony 
when  he  sank  into  a  walk ;  it  was  the  most 
heart-broken  forlorn  hope  that  ever  took  the 
field. 

The  gate -lodge  of  Fir  Grove  fulfilled  the 
assignation  made  for  it  by  the  stable  boy,  and 

207 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CB<M. 

met  us  on  the  road.  The  gates  stood  wide  open, 
and  the  pony  turned  in  as  by  an  accustomed 
route,  and  crawled  through  them  with  that  simu- 
lation of  complete  exhaustion  that  is  the  gift  of 
lazy  ponies.  Loud  narrative  in  a  male  voice  pro- 
ceeded from  the  dark  interior  of  the  lodge,  and, 
as  we  passed,  a  woman's  voice  said,  in  horrified 
rejoinder : 

u  The  Lord  save  us !  She  must  be  Anti- 
Christ!" 

Here,  apparently,  the  speaker  became  aware 
of  our  proximity,  and  an  old  woman  looked  forth. 
Her  face  was  apprehensive. 

"  Did  ye  see  the  police,  sir  ?"  she  asked. 

We  replied  in  the  negative. 

"  Please  God,  she'll  not  come  our  way ! "  she 
said,  and  banged  the  door. 

We  moved  on,  heavily,  in  the  deep  gravel  of 
the  avenue. 

"Isn't  this  rather  awful?  Shall  we  go  on?" 
said  Philippa. 

I  replied  with  truth  that  there  was  no  room  to 
turn.  On  either  side  of  the  narrow  drive  laurels 
and  rhododendrons  were  crammed  as  thickly  as 
they  could  be  planted,  their  dark  foliage  met 
overhead  ;  if  the  inexpressible  "  She  "  referred 
to  by  the  lodge-keeper  did  come  our  way,  retreat 
would  be  out  of  the  question.     The  tunnel  ran 

208 


"<^f  Horse  !   <tA  Horse!" 

uphill,  and  I  drove  the  pony  up  it  as  one  drives 
a  hoop,  by  incessant  beating ;  had  I  relaxed  my 
efforts  he  would  probably,  like  a  hoop,  have  lain 
down.  Presently,  and  still  uphill,  we  turned  a 
corner,  the  tunnel  ceased,  and  we  were  face  to 
face  with  a  large  pink  house. 

As  we  advanced,  feeling  to  the  full  the  degra- 
dation of  making  a  short-cut  past  a  strange  house, 
in  tall  hats  and  a  grovelling  pony-carriage,  we 
beheld  figures  rushing  past  the  windows  of  one 
of  the  rooms  on  the  ground  floor,  as  if  in  head- 
long flight.  Was  this  the  fulfilment  of  the  dark 
sayings  of  the  lodge-keeper,  and  was  "  She " 
"coming  our  way?"  The  bouncing  strains  of 
a  measure,  known,  I  believe,  as  "  Whistling 
Rufus,"  came  forth  to  us  hilariously  as  we  drew 
nearer.  The  problem  changed,  but  I  am  not 
sure  that  the  horror  did  not  deepen. 

Divining  the  determination  of  the  piebald 
pony  to  die,  if  necessary,  rather  than  pass  a  hall 
door  without  stopping  at  it,  yet  debarred  by 
the  decencies  from  thrashing  him  past  the  long 
line  of  windows,  I  administered  two  or  three 
rousing  tugs  to  his  wooden  mouth.  At  the  third 
tug  the  near  rein  broke.  The  pony  stopped 
dead.  Simultaneously  the  hall  door  was  flung 
open,  and  a  young  and  lovely  being,  tall,  and 
beautifully  dressed,  fluttered  out  on  to  the  steps 

209  o 


Further    "Experiences  of  an  Irish  CRCM. 

and    peered   at   us    through   long -handled   eye- 
glasses. 

"  Oh !  I  thought  you  were  the  police ! "  ex- 
claimed the  being,  with  unaffected  disappointment. 

The  position  seemed,  from  all  points,  to  de- 
mand an  apology.  I  disengaged  myself  from  the 
pony-carriage  and  proffered  it ;  I  also  volunteered 
any  help  that  a  mere  man,  not  a  policeman,  might 
be  capable  of  rendering. 

The  young  lady  aimed  her  glasses  at  the  pie- 
bald, motionless  In  malign  stupor,  and  replied 
irrelevantly : 

"  Why !     That's  the  Knoxes'  pony ! " 

I  made  haste  to  explain  our  disaster  and  the 
position  generally,  winding  up  with  a  request  for 
a  piece  of  string. 

"You're  staying  at  the  Butler-Knoxes ! "  ex- 
claimed the  lady  of  the  house.  "How  funny 
that  is!  Do  you  know  you're  coming  to  our 
dance  to-night,  to  meet  your  old  friend  the 
General !  I  know  all  about  it,  you  see ! "  She 
advanced  with  a  beaming  yet  perturbed  counte- 
nance upon  Philippa,  "  I'm  so  glad  to  meet  you. 
Do  come  in!  We've  got  an  infuriated  cook  at 
bay  in  the  kitchen,  and  things  are  rather  dis- 
organised, but  I  think  we  can  rise  to  a  bit  of 
string !  The  pony's  all  right — he'll  sleep  there 
for  months,  he  always  does." 

210 


"<t^  Horse!   *A  Horse!" 

We  followed  her  into  a  hall  choked  with  the 
exiled  furniture  of  the  drawing-room,  and  saw 
through  an  open  door  the  whirling  forms  of  two 
or  three  couples  of  young  men  and  maidens. 

"They're  polishing  the  floor,"  said  our  hostess, 
swiftly  shutting  the  door,  "  they  make  a  hideous 
noise,  but  it  keeps  them  quiet — if  you  know  what 
I  mean.  It's  most  disastrous  that  my  husband 
has  gone  out  hunting,"  she  pursued  ;  "this  odious 
cook  only  arrived  two  days  ago,  and " 

At  this  juncture  a  door  at  the  end  of  the  hall 
burst  open,  disclosing  a  long  passage  and  a  young 
and  crimson  housemaid. 

u  She's  coming,  my  lady !  She's  coming !  Mr. 
Ralph's  sent  me  on  to  get  the  door  open ! "  she 
panted. 

At  the  same  moment  a  loud  and  wrathful  voice 
arose  in  the  passage  and  a  massive  form,  filling 
it  from  wall  to  wall,  appeared ;  the  capitulating 
cook,  moving  down  upon  us  with  the  leisurely 
and  majestic  truculence  of  a  traction-engine.  As 
she  came  she  chanted  these  words  in  measured 

cadence : 

"  Lady  Flora, 
Gets  her  brother 
To  do  her  dirty  work." 

By  the  time  this  rune  had  been  repeated  three 
times  she  was  in  the  hall,  shepherded  by  a  tall 

211 


Further   'Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

young  man,  obviously  the  brother  referred  to, 
and  by  the  butler,  the  vista  being  filled  in  the  rear 
by  a  wavering  assortment  of  female  domestics.  As 
the  cook  tacked  to  weather  a  sofa,  there  was  some- 
thing about  her  that  woke  a  vague  and  unpleasant 
chord  of  memory.  Her  ranging  eye  met  mine, 
and  the  chord  positively  twanged  as  I  recognised 
the  formidable  countenance  of  a  female,  technically 
known  as  a  "job-cook,"  who  for  two  cyclonic 
weeks  had  terrorised  our  household  while  Mrs. 
Cadogan  was  on  leave.  I  backed  convulsively 
into  Lady  Flora,  in  futile  and  belated  attempt  to 
take  cover,  but  even  as  I  did  so  the  chanting 
ceased  and  I  knew  the  worst  had  happened. 

"Is  that  my  darlin'  Major  Yeates?"  shouted 
the  cook,  tacking  again  and  bearing  down  on  me 
full-sailed.  "Thanks  be  to  God  I  have  the 
gentleman  that'll  see  I  get  justice  I  And  Mrs. 
Yeates,  a  noble  lady,  that'd  never  set  foot  in  my 
kitchen  without  she'd  ask  my  leave!  Ah,  ha! 
As  Shakespeare  says,  I'd  know  a  rale  lady  as 
soon  as  I'd  put  an  eye  on  her,  if  she  was  boiling 
cabbage ! " 

She  caught  my  reluctant  hand  and  waved  it 
up  and  down,  and  the  muffled  triumphings  of 
"Whistling  Rufus"  in  the  drawing-room  filled 
up  the  position. 

Through  them  came  a  sound  of  wheels  on  the 
212 


"is  that  my  darlin'  major  yeates?"  shouted  the  cook 


u*f  Horse!   *A  Horse!" 

gravel,  and  through  this  again  a  strangled  whisper 
from  behind : 

"  Take  her  out  to  the  steps  ;  I  hear  the  car  with 
the  police ! " 

Holding  the  fervid  hand  of  the  job-cook,  I 
advanced  with  her  through  the  furniture,  skew- 
wise,  as  in  the  visiting  figure  of  the  Lancers ; 
there  was  an  undoubted  effort  on  her  part  to  keep 
time  to  the  music,  and  she  did  not  cease  to  inform 
the  company  that  Major  and  Mrs.  Yeates  were 
the  real  old  nobility,  and  that  they  would  see  she 
got  her  rights. 

Followed  closely  by  the  shepherd  and  the  butler, 
we  moved  forth  on  to  the  steps.  The  police  were 
not  there.  There  was  nothing  there  save  a  com- 
plicated pattern  of  arcs  and  angles  on  the  gravel, 
as  of  a  four-wheeled  vehicle  that  has  taken  an  un- 
commonly short  turn.  At  the  bend  of  the  avenue 
the  pony-carriage,  our  link  with  the  world  without, 
was  disappearing  from  view,  the  piebald  pony 
heading  for  home  at  a  pig-like  but  determined 
gallop.  The  job-cook  clasped  her  hands  on  my 
arm  and  announced  to  the  landscape  that  she 
would  live  and  die  with  the  Major. 


213 


IX 

"A    HORSE!     A    HORSE!" 

Part  II 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  Philippa  and  I  stood 
in  the  high  road,  with  the  sense  of  deliverance 
throbbing  in  every  grateful  nerve,  and  viewed  the 
car,  with  the  job-cook  and  the  policeman,  swing 
heavily  away  towards  the  railway  station. 

Mine  was  the  strategy  that  had  brought  about 
our  escape,  mine  were  the  attractions  that  had 
lured  the  cook  to  mount  the  policeman's  car  with 
me,  and  still  more  inalienably  mine  was  the  sear- 
ing moment  when,  still  arm-in-arm  with  the  cook, 
we  drove  away  from  the  deeply  appreciative  party 
on  the  doorsteps.  Philippa  and  a  policeman  were 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  car ;  the  second  police- 
man, very  considerately,  walked. 

We  were  close  to  the  station,  the  cook  had 
sung  herself  to  sleep,  and  Philippa  and  I  had  re- 
lapsed into  the  depths  of  abysmal  despondency, 
when  our  incredulous  eyes  beheld  the  Butler- 
Knoxes'  coachman  coming  towards  us  at  a  trot, 

214 


"td  Horse!   <tA  Horse!" 

riding  a  bay  horse  and  leading  a  grey,  on  which 
was  a  side-saddle.  Flavin,  the  horse  dealer, 
had,  after  all,  been  as  good  as  Flurry's  word — the 
hirelings  were  here,  and  all  was  right  with  the 
world. 

The  car  slackened  to  a  walk,  we  slid  from  it 
silently,  and  it  and  its  burden  passed  into  that 
place  of  shadows  to  which  all  extraneous  affairs 
of  life  betake  themselves  on  a  hunting  morning, 
when  the  hour  is  come,  and  the  horse. 

Looshy's  coachman  delivered  to  me  the  bay 
horse,  a  large  and  notable-looking  animal,  with  a 
Roman  nose  adorned  with  a  crooked  blaze,  a 
tranquil  eye,  and  two  white  stockings.  In  his 
left  hand  he  held  a  compact  iron-grey  mare, 
hogged  and  docked,  who  came  up  to  the  bank  by 
the  roadside,  to  be  mounted,  as  neatly  as  a  man- 
o'-war  boat  comes  alongside.  Hirelings  of  so 
superior  a  class  it  had  never  before  been  my 
privilege  to  meet,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  that 
they  were  either  incurably  vicious  or  broken 
winded. 

"  It's  easy  known  that  this  mare's  carried  a 
lady  before,  sir,"  said  the  coachman,  a  young  man 
with  a  soul  for  higher  things  than  driving  the 
Butler-Knox  covered  car,  "and  the  big  horse  is 
the  best  I  ever  seen  come  out  of  Flavin's !  He's 
in  grand  condition,   he's   as  slick   as   a  mouse! 

215 


Further   "Experiences  of  an  Irish  <rB<M. 

Only  for  Mr.  Flurry  being  there  we'd  hardly  have 
got  them,"  he  continued,  while  he  lengthened  my 
stirrup-leathers,  "the  chap  Flavin  sent  with  them 
had  drink  taken,  and  the  porters  had  the  box 
shunted  and  himself  in  it,  stretched,  and  the 
bottle  of  whisky  with  him ! " 

Flavin's  man  and  his  bottle  of  whisky  were 
now  negligible  incidents  for  me.  Philippa  was 
already  under  way,  and  the  time  was  short.  The 
bay  horse,  arching  his  neck  and  reaching  plea- 
santly at  his  bit,  went  away  at  a  rhythmic  and 
easy  trot,  the  grey  mare  flitted  beside  him  with 
equal  precision  ;  it  was,  perhaps,  rather  fast  for 
riding  to  a  meet,  but  we  were  late,  and  were  they 
not  hirelings  ? 

We  followed  our  guides,  the  telegraph  posts, 
for  some  four  miles  of  level  road ;  they  dropped 
down  a  deepening  valley  to  a  grey  and  brimming 
river,  and  presently  came  slate  roofs  and  white- 
washed houses,  staring  at  each  other  across  an 
empty  village  street.  We  had  arrived  at  Kil- 
barron,  the  scene  of  the  meet,  and  the  meet  was 
not. 

"  They've  gone  on  !  they've  gone  on !"  screamed 
an  old  woman  from  a  doorway,  "  away  up  over  the 
hill!" 

Evidently  every  other  live  thing  had  followed 
the  hunt,   and  we   did   not   spare    Mr.   Flavin's 

216 


"<^  Horse  !   U  Horse  !" 

horses  in  doing  the  same.  We  reached  the  top 
of  the  long  hill  in  a  remarkably  brief  space  of 
time,  and,  having  done  so,  realised  that  we  were 
not  too  late.  A  couple  of  fields  away  a  row  of 
figures,  standing  like  palings  along  the  top  of  a 
bank,  with  their  backs  to  us,  told  that  the  hounds 
were  still  in  view ;  even  as  we  sighted  them,  the 
palings  plunged  en  masse  from  their  standpoint 
with  that  composite  yell  that  in  Ireland  denotes 
the  breaking  (and  frequently  the  heading)  of  a 
fox,  and  vanished.  Whatever  was  happening,  it 
was  not  coming  our  way.  I  turned  my  hireling 
at  the  bank  by  the  roadside,  he  came  round  with 
a  responsive  swing,  and  in  two  large  and  orderly 
bounds  he  was  over.  Before  I  had  time  to  look 
round,  the  grey  mare,  with  the  faintest  hint  of  a 
buck,  galloped  emulously  past  me. 

"  Perfection  !  "  panted  Philippa,  putting  her  hat 
straight. 

As  we  came  up  on  to  the  next  bank,  recently 
vacated  by  its  human  palisade,  we  found  that 
fortune  had  smiled  upon  us.  Just  below,  on  our 
right,  was  a  long  strip  of  gorse  covert ;  three  big 
fields  beyond  it,  gliding  from  us  like  a  flock  of 
seagulls,  were  the  clamouring  hounds,  and  in  the 
space  between  us  and  them  bucketed  the  hunt,  in 
the  first  fine  frenzy  of  getting  away.  Flavin's 
bay  immediately  caught  hold,  not  implacably,  but 

217 


Further   "Experiences  of  an   Irish  ^M. 

with  the  firmness  of  superior  knowledge ;  the 
grey  mare,  having  ascertained  that  Philippa  was 
not  going  to  interfere,  thought  better  of  going  on 
alone,  and  took  the  time  from  her  stable  com- 
panion. The  field  was  already  sorting  itself  into 
the  usual  divisions  of  the  forward,  the  cunning, 
and  the  useless ;  our  luck  stood  to  us ;  the  for- 
ward division,  carried  away  by  the  enthusiasm  of 
a  good  start  and  a  sympathetic  fall  of  ground, 
succeeded  in  less  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  hust- 
ling the  hounds  over  the  line,  and  brought  about 
a  check.  We  joined  the  rearguard,  and  worked  our 
way  towards  the  front,  unobtrusively,  because  Sir 
Thomas  Purcell's  comments  on  the  situation  were 
circling  like  a  stock-whip  among  the  guilty,  and 
were  not  sparing  the  innocent.  At  this  moment 
we  found  Flurry  Knox  beside  us. 

"  Sir  Thomas  is  giving  the  soldiers  their  tea  in  a 
mug ! "  he  said  ;  "  and  they  were  in  the  want  of  it ! 
How  are  those  horses  doing  with  you?"  he  went 
on,  looking  our  steeds  up  and  down.  "They 
look  up  to  your  weights,  anyhow  !  I  suppose  you 
didn't  see  your  friend,  the  General  ?  He  was  at 
the  meet  in  a  motor." 

"Ina  motor ! "  repeated  Philippa.  "  I  thought 
he  was  such  a  wonderful  rider." 

"He  knows  how  to  get  a  motor  along,  any- 
how," replied  Flurry,  his  attentive  eyes  following 

218 


"tj£  Horse!   *A  Horse  !" 

the  operations  of  the  hounds  ;  "maybe  he  has  the 
gout.  You'd  say  he  had  by  the  colour  of  his  face. 
Hullo!  Boys!  They're  away  again !  Come  on, 
Mrs.  Yeates !  Knock  your  two  guineas'  worth 
out  of  Flavin ! " 

Short  as  it  was,  the  burst  had  been  long  enough 
to  tranquillise  my  anxieties  as  to  our  hirelings' 
wind,  and  when  we  started  again  we  found  them 
almost  excessively  ready  for  the  stone-faced  bank 
that  confronted  us  at  the  end  of  the  field.  Some 
twenty  of  us,  including  the  chidden,  but  wholly 
unabashed  soldiers,  went  at  it  in  line,  and,  after 
the  manner  of  stone-faced  banks,  it  grew  very  tall 
as  we  approached  it.  Flavin's  bay  strode  un- 
falteringly over  it ;  it  was  as  though  he  grasped  it 
and  flung  it  behind  him.  The  grey  mare,  full  of 
jealousy  and  vain-glory,  had  a  hard  try  to  fly  the 
whole  thing,  but  retained  sufficient  self-control  to 
change  feet  at  the  last  possible  instant ;  with  or 
without  a  scramble  or  a  peck,  we  all  arrived 
somehow  in  the  next  field,  and  saw,  topping  the 
succeeding  fence,  the  bulky  chestnut  quarters  of 
Sir  Thomas  Purcell's  horse  and  the  square  scarlet 
back  of  Sir  Thomas.  Away  to  the  left,  on  an 
assortment  of  astute  crocks,  three  of  the  Misses 
Purcell  followed  the  First  Whip,  at  as  consider- 
able a  distance  from  their  parent  as  was  consistent 
with  a  good  place.    Their  voices  came  confusedly 

219 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

to  us ;  apparently  each  was  telling  the  others  tc 
get  out  of  her  way. 

For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  hounds  ran  hard 
over  the  clean  pasture-land,  whose  curves  rose 
before  us  and  glided  astern  like  the  long  rollers 
under  an  Atlantic  liner.  Innocent  of  rocks  or  pit- 
falls, unimpeachable  as  to  surface,  it  was  a  page  of 
fair  print  as  compared  with  the  black  letter  manu- 
script to  which  the  country  of  Mr.  Flurry  Knox's 
hounds  might  be  likened.  Never  before  have  I 
crossed  fences  as  sound,  as  seductive,  it  was  like 
jumping  large  and  well-upholstered  Chesterfield 
sofas ;  Chesterfieldian  also  were  the  manners  of 
Flavin's  bay.  I  found  myself  in  the  magnificent 
position  of  giving  a  lead  to  Flurry  and  the  Dodger, 
of  giving  several  leads  to  the  soldiery  ;  once,  when 
a  wide  and  boggy  stream  occurred,  the  Misses 
Purcell  and  the  crocks  looked  to  me  as  their 
pioneer.  The  hustle  and  the  hurry  never  relaxed  ; 
the  hounds  had  fastened  on  the  line  and  were 
running  it  as  though  it  were  a  footpath ;  but  for 
the  check  at  the  start,  no  fox  could  have  held  his 
lead  for  so  long  at  such  a  pace,  and  whatever  the 
pace,  the  tails  of  the  horses  of  Sir  Thomas  and 
the  First  Whip  never  failed  to  disappear  over  the 
bank  just  ahead. 

For  me,  in  the  unwonted  glory  of  heading  the 
desperadoes  of  the  first  flight,  life  and  the  future 

220 


"e^f  Horse!   *A  Horse!" 

were  contained  in  the  question  of  how  much  longer 
I  could  count  on  my  hireling.  I  was  just  able  to 
spare  a  hasty  thought  or  two  to  Philippa  and  the 
grey,  and  I  remember  that  it  was  after  a  heavy 
drop  into  a  road  that  I  noticed,  with  the  just  and 
impotent  wrath  of  a  husband,  that  her  hair  was 
beginning  to  come  down. 

It  was  just  then  that  I  first  saw  the  motor. 
The  fox  had  run  the  road  for  some  little  dis- 
tance ;  we  clattered  and  splashed  along  it,  until 
an  intimidating  roar  from  Sir  Thomas  and  the 
sight  of  his  right  arm  in  the  air,  brought  us, 
bumping  and  tugging,  to  a  standstill.  The  hounds 
were  for  a  moment  at  fault,  swarming,  with  their 
heads  down,  over  every  inch  of  the  road,  and 
beyond  them,  about  a  hundred  yards  from  us, 
was  a  resplendent  scarlet  motor,  whose  nearer 
approach  was  summarily  interdicted  by  the  First 
Whip.  I  am  short-sighted,  but  I  caught  an 
impression  of  two  elderly  gentlemen,  one  of  whom, 
wearing  a  white  moustache  and  a  tall  hat,  was 
responding  warmly  to  the  fulminations  of  Sir 
Thomas.  If  this  were  my  ancient  brother-in- 
arms, Jimmy  Porteous,  following  hounds  in  a 
motor,  times  were  indeed  changed.  I  dismissed 
the  possibility  from  my  mind.  Just  then  I  caught 
sight  of  Flurry's  face ;  it  had  in  it  the  fearful  joy 
of  a  schoolboy  who  has  seen  a  squib  put  into  the 

221 


Further   'Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.M. 

tail  pocket  of  the  schoolmaster,  and  awaits  the 
result.  Mrs.  Flurry,  in  the  heroic  act  of  pluck- 
ing a  hairpin  from  her  own  unshaken  golden-red 
plaits,  and  yielding  it  to  Philippa,  met  his  eye 
with  a  glance  that  was  so  expressionless  as  to 
amount  to  a  danger  signal. 

At  this  moment  the  hounds  jostled  over  the 
wall  with  a  clatter  of  falling  stones  ;  they  spread 
themselves  in  the  field  like  the  opening  of  a  fan, 
they  narrowed  to  the  recovered  line  like  the 
closing  of  one  ;  Sir  Thomas's  chestnut  hoisted 
himself  and  his  fifteen-stone  burden  out  of  the 
road  with  the  heave  of  an  earthquake.  The 
riders  shoved  after  him,  and  we  were  swept  again 
into  the  current  of  the  hunt. 

As  we  thundered  away  up  the  field  threatening 
shouts  from  the  checked  motorists  followed  us ; 
apparently,  after  the  manner  of  their  kind,  they 
had  not  a  moment  to  spare,  and  the  delay  had 
annoyed  them.  The  next  fence  arrived,  and  they, 
and  all  else,  were  forgotten. 

There  was  a  wood  ahead  of  us,  cresting  a  long 
upland,  and  for  it  the  hounds  were  making,  at  a 
pace  that  brutally  ignored  the  rise  of  ground,  and 
the  fact  that  in  these  higher  levels  the  fields  were 
smaller,  and  the  fences  had  to  be  faced  up  a  hill 
that  momently  grew  steeper. 

"Hold  on,  Mrs.  Yeates,  till  I  take  down  that 
222 


"<^  Horse!   *A  Horse!" 

pole  for  you ! "  Flurry's  voice  followed  us  up  the 
hill,  and  there  was  that  in  it  that  told  he  was 
making  heavy  weather  of  it.  He  was  leading  the 
dripping  Dodger,  and  I  have  seldom  seen  a  redder 
face  than  his  as  he  laboured  past  Philippa  and 
dragged  away  the  shaft  of  a  cart  that  barred  a 
gap.  "  Bad  luck  to  this  for  a  close  country ! "  he 
puffed.  "You're  not  off  one  fence  before  you're 
on  top  of  the  next ! "  Flavin's  horses  were  cer- 
tainly lathering  pretty  freely,  but  were  otherwise 
making  no  remark  on  the  situation,  and  neither 
of  them  had  so  far  made  a  mistake  of  any  kind. 
I  saw  the  First  Whip  regard  the  bay  with  obvious 
respect,  and  turn  with  a  confidential  comment 
to  the  nearest  Miss  Purcell.  It  hail-marked  my 
achievements. 

Philippa  and  I  were  among  the  first  into  the 
wood  ;  even  Flurry  had  been  left  three  fields 
behind,  and  the  glory  of  our  position  radiated 
from  us,  as  we  stood  at  the  end  of  the  main  ride, 
sublimely  surveying  the  arrival  of  the  rest  of  the 
streaming  hunt.  Sir  Thomas  and  the  hounds 
had  dived  out  of  sight  into  the  recesses  of  the 
wood  ;  a  period  of  inaction  ensued,  and  for  a  few 
balmy  minutes  peace  with  honour  was  ours. 

Balmy,  however,  as  were  the  minutes,  there 
crept  into  them  an  anxiety  as  to  what  the  hounds 
were  doing.     A  great  and  complete  silence  had 

223 


Further   "Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

fallen  as  far  as  they  and  Sir  Thomas  were  con- 
cerned, and  Philippa  and  I,  conscious  of  our  high 
estate  as  leaders  of  the  hunt,  melted  away  from 
the  crowd  to  investigate  matters.  We  followed 
a  path  that  took  us  across  the  wood,  and  the 
deeper  we  went  the  deeper  was  the  silence,  and 
the  more  acute  became  our  fears  that  we  had  been 
left  behind.  Sir  Thomas  had  an  evil  reputation 
for  slipping  his  field  and  getting  away  alone. 

"  There's  the  horn !  "  cried  Philippa.  "  It's 
outside  the  wood !  They  have  gone  away. 
Hurry!" 

We  were  squeezing  along  the  farther  edge  of  the 
covert,  looking  for  a  way  out,  and  I,  too,  heard 
the  note,  faint,  yet  commanding.  I  hurried. 
That  is  to  say,  with  my  hat  over  my  eyes>  and 
my  cheek  laid  against  the  bay's  neck,  I  followed 
my  wife  up  an  alley  that  was  barely  wide  enough 
for  a  woodcock. 

On  our  left  was  an  impassable  hedge  of  small 
trees,  crowning  a  heavy  drop  into  the  field  out- 
side the  wood ;  our  faces  were  rowelled  by  the 
branches  of  young  spruce  firs.  It  was  all  very 
well  for  Philippa,  riding  nearly  two  hands  lower 
than  I,  to  twist  her  way  in  and  out  through 
them  like  a  squirrel,  but  for  me,  on  a  16.2  horse, 
resolved  on  following  his  stable  companion  through 
a  keyhole  if  necessary,  it  was  anything  but  well. 

224 


"tA  Horse  !    sA  Horse  !" 

My  eyes  were  tightly  shut,  my  arm  was  in  front 
of  them,  and  my  eye-glass  was  hanging  down  my 
back,  when  I  felt  the  bay  stop. 

"  Here's  a  way  out,"  said  my  wife's  voice,  ap- 
parently from  the  middle  of  a  fir  tree,  "  there's  a 
sort  of  a  cattle  track  here." 

There  followed  a  scramble  and  a  slide,  then 
Philippa's  voice  again,  enjoining  me  to  keep  to 
the  right. 

She  has  since  explained  that  she  really  meant 
the  left,  and  that,  in  any  case,  I  might  have 
known  that  she  always  said  right  when  she  meant 
left ;  be  that  as  it  may,  when  the  bay  and  I  had 
committed  ourselves  to  the  steep  descent — half 
water-course,  half  cattle  track — I  was  smitten  in 
the  face  by  a  holly  branch.  Before  I  had  recovered 
from  its  impact,  a  stout  beechen  bough,  that  it 
had  masked,  met  me  violently  across  the  waist- 
coat and  held  me  in  mid-air,  as  the  gorilla  is 
reputed  to  grasp  and  hold  the  traveller,  while  my 
horse  moved  firmly  downward  from  beneath  me. 
After  a  moment  of  suspense,  mental  and  physical, 
I  fell  to  earth,  like  the  arrow  in  the  song,  I  knew 
not  where,  and  tobogganed  painfully  down  some- 
thing steep  and  stony,  with  briers  in  it. 

As  I  rose  to  my  feet,  the  mellow  note  of  the 
horn  that  had  beguiled  us  from  the  wood,  again 
sounded ;  nearer  now,  and  with  a  harsher  cadence, 

225  p 

y 


Further   "Experiences  of  an  Irish  I^M. 

and  I  perceived,  at  the  farther  end  of  the  field  in 
which  I  had  arrived,  a  bullock,  with  his  head 
over  a  gate,  sending  a  long  and  lamentable  bugle 
note  to  the  companions  from  whom  he  had  been 
separated.  Simultaneously  the  hounds  opened 
far  back  in  the  wood  behind  me,  and  I  knew 
that  the  flood-tide  of  luck  had  turned  against  us. 

Flavin's  bay  had  not  waited  for  me.  He  was 
already  well  away,  going  with  head  and  tail  high 
held,  a  gentleman  at  large,  seeking  for  entertain- 
ment at  a  lively  and  irresponsible  trot.  Pursuing 
him,  with  more  zeal  than  discretion,  was  Philippa 
on  the  grey  mare ;  he  broke  into  a  canter,  and 
I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  them  both  swing 
through  a  gateway  and  proceed  at  a  round  gallop 
across  the  next  field.  I  followed  them  at  the 
best  imitation  of  the  same  pace  that  my  boots 
permitted,  and  squelched  through  the  mire  of 
the  gateway  in  time  to  see  the  bay  horse  jump 
a  tall  bank,  and  drop  with  a  clatter  into  a  road. 
At  the  same  moment  the  drumming  and  hooting 
of  a  motor-car  broke  upon  my  ear,  and  three 
heads,  one  of  them  wearing  a  tall  hat,  slid  at  high 
speed  along  the  line  of  the  fence.  At  sight  of 
this  apparition  the  bay  horse  gave  a  massive 
buck,  and  fled  at  full  speed  up  a  lane.  To  my 
surprise  and  gratification,  the  motor-car  instantly 
stopped,  and  one  of  its  occupants — the  wearer  of 

226 


"*A  Horse!   t£  Horse!" 

the  tall  hat — sprang  out  and  gave  chase  to  my 
horse. 

My  attention  was  here  abruptly  transferred  to 
my  wife,  who,  having  followed  the  chase,  whether 
by  her  own  wish  or  that  of  the  grey  mare  I  have 
never  been  able  to  discover,  was  now  combating 
the  desire  of  the  latter  to  jump  the  bank  at  the 
exact  spot  calculated  to  land  them  both  in  the  lap 
of  the  motor-car.  The  dispute  ended  in  a  slanting 
and  crab-like  rush  at  a  place  twenty  yards  lower 
down,  and  it  was  then  that  the  figure  of  our  host, 
Mr.  Lucius  Butler-Knox,  rose,  amazingly,  in  the 
motor-car,  making  semaphore  gestures  of  warning. 

The  mare  jumped  crookedly  on  to  the  bank, 
hung  there  for  half  a  second,  and  launched  her- 
self into  space,  the  launch  being  followed,  appro- 
priately, by  a  mighty  splash.  Neither  she  nor 
Philippa  reappeared. 

Throughout  these  events  I  had  not  ceased  to 
run,  and  the  next  thing  I  can  distinctly  recall 
is  scrambling,  thoroughly  blown,  on  to  the  fence, 
whence  a  moving  scene  presented  itself  to  me. 
The  grey  mare  and  Philippa  had,  with  singular 
ingenuity,  selected  between  them  the  one  place 
in  the  fence  where  disaster  was  inevitable ;  and 
I  now  beheld  my  wife  prone  in  two  feet  of  yellow 
water,  the  overflow  of  a  flooded  ditch  that  had 
turned  a  hollow  by  the  roadside  into  a  sufficiently 

227 


Further   "Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.M. 

imposing  pond.  Mr.  Butler- Knox  and  the  chauf- 
feur were  already  rendering  all  the  assistance 
possible,  short  of  wetting  their  feet,  and  were 
hauling  her  ashore ;  while  the  grey  mare,  recum- 
bent in  deeper  water,  surveyed  the  operation  with 
composure,  and  made  no  attempt  to  move.  When 
I  joined  the  party' — a  process  involving  a  wide 
circuit  of  the  flood — Philippa  had  sunk,  dripping, 
upon  a  heap  of  stones  by  the  roadside,  in  laughter 
as  inexplicable  as  it  was  unsuitable.  There  was, 
at  all  events,  no  need  to  ask  if  she  were  hurt. 

"  The  most  appalling  thing  that  you  ever  knew 
in  your  life  has  happened ! "  she  wailed,  and 
instantly  fell  again  into  unseemly  convulsions. 

Whatever  the  jest  might  be,  it  did  not  appeal 
to  the  chauffeur,  who  withdrew  in  silence  to  his 
motor,  coldly  wiping  the  vicarious  duckweed  from 
his  knees  with  a  silk  pocket-handkerchief.  Still 
less  did  it  appeal  to  me.  Any  fair-minded  person 
will  admit  that  I  had  cause  to  be  excessively 
angry  with  Philippa.  That  a  grown  woman, 
the  mother  of  two  children,  should  mistake  the 
bellow  of  a  bullock  for  the  note  of  a  horn  was 
bad  enough ;  but  that  when,  having  caused  a 
serious  accident  by  not  knowing  her  right  hand 
from  her  left,  and  having,  by  further  insanities, 
driven  one  valuable  horse  adrift  into  the  country, 
probably  broken   the  back   of  another,  laid  the 

228 


"I    WILL   WALK — I    SHOULD    REALLY    PREFER    IT" 


'W  Horse  !   v£  Horse!" 

seeds  of  heart  disease  in  her  husband  from  shock 
and  over-exertion,  and  of  rheumatic  fever  in  her- 
self; when,  I  repeat,  after  all  these  outrages, 
she  should  sit  in  a  soaking  heap  by  the  roadside, 
laughing  like  a  maniac,  I  feel  that  the  sympathy 
of  the  public  will  not  be  withheld  from  me. 

The  mystery  of  Mr.  Butler-Knox's  appearance 
in  the  motor-car  passed  by  me  like  a  feather  in 
a  whirlwind ;  I  strode  without  a  word  into  the 
yellow  flood  in  which  the  mare  was  lying,  and 
got  hold  of  her  reins  with  the  handle  of  my  crop ; 
I  might  as  well  have  tried  to  draw  out  Behemoth 
with  a  hook.  Her  hind-quarters  were  well  fixed 
in  the  hidden  ditch,  she  made  not  the  slightest 
effort  to  stir,  and  continued  to  recline,  contentedly, 
not  to  say  defiantly. 

**  That's  a  great  sign  of  fine  weather,"  said  a 
voice  behind  me  in  affable  comment,  "when 
a  horse  will  lie  down  in  wather  that  way." 

I  turned  upon  my  consoler,  and  saw  a  young 
countryman  with  a  fur-lined  coat  hanging  upon 
his  arm. 

14 1  got  this  thrown  in  the  bohireen  above,"  he 
said,  "the  other  gentleman,  that's  follying  the 
bay  horse,  stripped  it  off  him,  and  God  knows 
it's  itself  that's  weighty ! " 

"My  dear  Major!"  began  Looshy,  addressing 
me   agitatedly  from  the   bank,  as  a  hen  might 

229 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

address  a  refractory  duckling,  "there  has  been 
a  most  unfortunate  mistake." 

"There   has!     There    has!     It's   all   Flurry's 


"that's  a  great  sign  of  fine  weather  when  a  horse  will 
lie  down  in  wather  that  way" 


fault ! "  gasped  Philippa,  staggering  towards  me 
like  a  drunken  woman. 

11 1  fear  the  General  is  terribly  annoyed,"  con- 
tinued Looshy,  wiping  his  grey  beard  and  mop- 
ping his  collar  to  remove  the  muddy  imprint  of 

230 


"<^  Horse  !   iA  Horse  !  " 

Philippa's  arm ;  "  he  rushed  into  Garden  Mount 
in  search  of  his  horses  when  he  found  they  were 
not  at  the  meet  nor  at  the  station — he  left  Lady 
Porteous  with  my  sisters  and  took  me  to  identify 
you  ;  I  mentioned  your  name,  but  he  did  not  seem 
to  grasp  it — indeed  his  language  was — er — was 
such  that  I  thought  it  unwise  to  press  the  point." 

I  dropped  the  reins  and  began,  slowly,  to  wade 
out  of  the  pool. 

"  I  understand  he  has  but  just  paid  ^300  for 
these  horses — it  was  an  unpardonable  mistake 
of  Flurry's,"  went  on  Looshy,  "he  found  the 
General's  horses  at  the  station  and  thought  that 
they  were  Flavin's." 

"  Dear  Flurry  !  "  sobbed  Philippa,  shamelessly, 
reeling  against  me  and  clutching  my  arm. 

"  Begor'  he  have  the  horse ! "  said  the  young 
countryman,  looking  up  the  hill. 

A  stout  figure  in  a  red  coat  and  tall  hat  was 
approaching  by  way  of  the  bohireen,  followed 
by  a  man  leading  a  limping  horse. 

"I  think,"  said  Looshy  nervously,  "that  Mrs. 
Yeates  had  better  have  my  seat  in  the  motor-car 
and  hurry  home.  I  will  walk — I  should  really 
prefer  it.  The  General  will  be  quite  happy  now 
that  he  has  found  his  horses  and  his  old  friend." 

The  chauffeur,  plying  a  long-necked  oil-can, 
smiled  sardonically. 

231 


X 

SHARPER  THAN  A  FERRET'S  TOOTH 

"  My  dear  Philippa,"  said  Miss  Shute  gloomily, 
"  I  have  about  as  much  chance  of  spending  next 
winter  in  Florence  as  I  have  of  spending  it  in  the 
moon.  I  despair  of  ever  getting  Bernard  married. 
I  look  upon  him  as  hopeless." 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you  at  all,"  replied  Philippa. 
"  don't  you  remember  how  demented  he  was 
about  Sally  Knox  ?  And  when  we  all  thought 
he  was  on  the  verge  of  suicide,  we  discovered 
that  he  was  deep  in  a  flirtation  with  that  American 
girl.  It  seems  to  me  he's  ready  to  be  devoted  to 
any  one  who  takes  him  in  hand.  He  has  none  of 
that  deadly  helpless  fidelity  about  him." 

u  I  ought  never  to  have  allowed  him  to  take  up 
gardening,"  said  Miss  Shute,  despondently  pur- 
suing her  own  line  of  thought,  "  it  only  promotes 
intimacies  with  dowagers." 

"Yes,  and  it  makes  men  elderly,  and  con- 
tented, and  stay-at-home,"  agreed  Philippa;  "it's 
one  of  the  worst  signs !  But  I  can  easily  make 
Sybil  Hervey  think  she's  a  gardener.     She's  a 

212 


Sharper  than  a  Ferret's  Tooth 

thoroughly  nice,  coercible  girl.  Alice  has  always 
been  so  particular  about  her  girls.  Of  course 
with  their  money  they've  been  run  after  a  good 
deal,  but  they're  not  in  the  least  spoilt." 

"  I  don't  think,"  I  murmured  privately  to  Maria, 
who  was  trying  to  hypnotise  me  into  letting  her 
crawl  on  to  the  sofa  beside  me,  "  that  we'll  borrow 
half-a-crown  to  get  drunk  with  her." 

Maria  wagged  her  tail  in  servile  acquiescence. 

"Nonsense!"  said  my  wife  largely. 

A  month  from  the  date  of  this  conversation, 
Sybil  Hervey,  my  wife's  pretty,  young,  and  well- 
dowered  niece,  was  staying  beneath  our  roof.  I 
had  not  changed  my  mind  about  the  half-crown, 
though  Maria,  perfidious  as  ever,  feigned  for  her 
the  impassioned  affection  that  had  so  often  im- 
posed upon  the  guileless  guest  within  my  gates. 

"  Why,  this  dog  has  taken  the  most  extraordinary 
fancy  to  me ! "  Sybil  Hervey  (who  was  really  a 
very  amiable  girl)  would  say,  and  Maria,  with  a 
furtive  eye  upon  her  owners,  would  softly  draw 
the  guest's  third  piece  of  cake  into  the  brown 
velvet  bag  that  she  called  her  mouth. 

This  was  all  very  well  from  Maria's  point  of 
view,  but  a  friendship  with  Maria  had  not  been 
the  object  of  Miss  Hervey's  importation.  I 
evade,  by  main  strength,  the  quotation  from 
Burns  proper  to  this  state  of  affairs,  and  proceed 

233 


Further   'Experiences  of  an  Irish  CB<M. 

to  say  that  the  matrimonial  scheme  laid  by  my 
wife  and  Miss  Shute  was  not  prospering.  Sybil 
Hervey,  the  coercible,  the  thoroughly  nice,  shied 
persistently  at  the  instructive  pages  of  Robinson's 
"  English  Flower  Garden,"  and  stuck  in  her  toes 
and  refused  point  blank  to  weed  seedlings  for  her 
Aunt  Philippa.  Nor  was  a  comprehensive  garden 
party  at  Clountiss  attended  with  any  success  ;  far 
otherwise.  Miss  Shute  unfortunately  thought  it 
incumbent  on  her  to  trawl  in  deep  waters,  and  to 
invite  even  the  McRory  family  to  her  entertain- 
ment, with  the  result  that  her  brother,  Bernard — 
I  quote  my  wife  verbatim — made  a  ridiculous 
spectacle  of  himself  by  walking  about  all  the  after- 
noon with  a  fluffy-haired,  certainly-rather-pretty, 
little  abomination,  a  creature  who  was  staying 
with  the  McRorys.  Worse  even  than  this,  Sybil 
had  disappointed,  if  not  disgraced,  her  backers, 
by  vanishing  from  the  ken  of  un-gentle  men  with 
Mr.  De  Lacy  McRory,  known  to  his  friends  as 
"  Curly." 

I  have  before  now  dealt,  superficially,  and  quite 
inadequately,  with  the  McRorys.  It  may  even 
be  permitted  to  me  to  recall  again  the  generic 
description  of  each  young  male  McRory.  "A 
bit  of  a  lad,  but  nothing  at  all  to  the  next  youngest." 
Since  that  time  the  family  had  worn  its  way,  un- 
equally and  in  patches,  into  the  tolerance  of  the 

234 


Sharper  than  a  Ferret's  Tooth 

neighbourhood.  It  was  said,  apologetically,  that 
the  daughters  danced,  and  played  tennis  and 
golf  so  well,  and  the  sons  did  the  same  and  were 
such  excellent  shots,  and  that  Mrs.  McRory 
bought,  uncomplainingly,  all  that  was  offered  to 
her  at  bazaars,  and  could  always  be  counted  on 
for  a  whole  row  of  seats  at  local  concerts.  As 
for  old  McRory,  people  said  that  he  was  certainly 
rather  awful,  but  that  he  was  better  than  his 
family  in  that  he  knew  that  he  was  awful,  and 
kept  out  of  the  way.  As  a  matter  of  history, 
there  were  not  many  functions  where  a  McRory 
of  some  kind,  in  accordance  with  its  special 
accomplishment,  did  not  find,  at  all  events,  stand- 
ing room  ;  fewer  still  where  they  did  not  form  a 
valued  topic  of  conversation. 

Curly  McRory  was,  perhaps,  the  pioneer  of  his 
family  in  their  advance  to  cross  what  has  been 
usefully  called  "the  bounder-y  line."  He  played 
all  games  well,  and  he  was  indisputably  good- 
looking,  he  knew  how  to  be  discreetly  silent; 
he  also,  apparently,  knew  how  to  talk  to  Sybil 
what  time  her  accredited  chaperon,  oblivious  of 
her  position,  played  two  engrossing  sets  of  tennis. 

After  this  fiasco  came  a  period  of  stagnation, 
during  which  Mr.  De  Lacy  McRory  honoured  us 
with  his  first  visit  to  Shreelane,  bicycling  over  to 
see  me,  on  business  connected  with  the  golf  club  ; 

235 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

in  my  regretted  absence  he  asked  for  Mrs.  Yeates, 
and  stayed  for  tea.  Following  upon  this  Sybil 
took  to  saying,  "  I  will,"  in  what  she  believed  to 
be  a  brogue,  instead  of  "  yes,"  and  was  detected 
in  fruitless  search  for  the  McRorys  of  Temple 
Braney  in  the  pages  of  Burke's  Irish  Landed 
Gentry. 

It  was  at  this  unsatisfactory  juncture  that  Mrs. 
Flurry  Knox  entered  into  the  affair  with  an  invi- 
tation to  us  to  spend  three  days  at  Aussolas 
Castle,  one  of  which  was  to  be  devoted  to  the 
destruction  of  a  pack  of  grouse,  fabled  by  John 
Kane,  the  keeper,  to  frequent  a  mountain  back 
of  Aussolas  :  the  Shutes  were  also  to  be  of  the 
party.  I  seemed  to  detect  in  the  arrangement  a 
hand  more  diplomatic  than  that  of  Providence, 
but  I  said  nothing. 

The  Flurry  Knoxes  were,  for  the  moment,  in 
residence  at  Aussolas,  while  old  Mrs.  Knox  made 
her  annual  pilgrimage  to  Buxton.  They  were 
sent  there  to  keep  the  servants  from  fighting,  and 
because  John  Kane  had  said  that  there  was  no 
such  enemies  to  pigs  as  servants  on  board  wages. 
(A  dark  saying,  bearing  indirectly  on  the  plenish- 
ing of  pig-buckets.) 

Between  servants  and  pigs,  as  indeed  in  most 
affairs  of  life,  little  Mrs.  Flurry  held  the  scales  of 
justice  with  a  remarkably  steady  hand,  and  under 

236 


FLURRY   AND    I    FUT    IN    A   BLAZING    SEPTEMBER   DAY   ON 
THE   MOUNTAIN 


Sharper  than  a  Ferret's  Tooth 

her  regime  one  could  at  all  events  be  reasonably 
sure  of  having  one's  boots  cleaned,  and  of  getting 
a  hot  bath  in  the  morning.  We  went  to  Aussolas, 
and  Flurry  and  Bernard  Shute  and  I  put  in  a 
blazing  September  day  on  the  mountain,  wading 
knee  deep  in  matted  heather  and  furze,  in  pursuit 
of  the  mythical  grouse,  and  brought  home  two 
hares  and  a  headache  (the  latter  being  my  contri- 
bution to  the  bag).  The  ladies  met  us  with  tea ; 
Sybil,  in  Harris  tweed  and  admirable  boots,  looked, 
I  must  admit,  uncommonly  smart.  Even  Flurry 
was  impressed,  and  it  was  palpable  to  the  most 
superficial  observer  that  Bernard  was  at  length 
beginning,  like  a  baby,  to  M  take  notice."  After 
tea  he  and  she  moved  away  in  sweet  accord  to 
wash  teacups  in  a  bog-hole,  from  whence  their 
prattle  came  prosperously  to  the  ears  of  the  three 
diplomatists,  seated,  like  the  witches  in  Macbeth, 
upon  the  heath,  and,  like  them,  arranging  futures 
for  other  people.  Bearing  in  mind  that  one  of 
the  witches  had  (in  a  previous  incarnation  as  Miss 
Sally  Knox)  held  Bernard  in  her  thrall,  and  still 
retained  him  in  a  platonic  sphere  of  influence,  any 
person  of  experience  would  have  said  that  the  odds 
were  greatly  against  Mr.  Shute. 

The  hot  bath  that  was  the  fine  fleur  of  Mrs. 
Flurry's  regime  at  Aussolas  failed  conspicuously 
next  morning.     It  was  the  precursor  of  a  general 

237 


Further   "Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.M. 

slump.  When,  at  a  liberal  9.30,  I  arrived  in  the 
dining-room,  of  neither  host,  hostess,  nor  break- 
fast was  there  any  sign.  The  host,  it  appeared, 
had  gone  to  a  fair ;  having  waited  for  a  hungry 
half-hour  we  were  coming  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  hostess  had  gone  with  him,  when  the  door 
opened  and  Mrs.  Flurry  came  swiftly  into  the 
room.  Her  face  was  as  a  book,  where  men  might 
read  strange  matters ;  it  was  also  of  a  hue  that 
suggested  the  ardent  climate  of  the  kitchen  ;  in 
her  hand  she  carried  a  toast-rack,  and  following 
hard  on  her  heels  came  three  maids,  also  heavily 
flushed,  bearing  various  foods,  and  all,  apparently, 
on  the  verge  of  tears.  This  cortege  having 
retired,  Mrs.  Flurry  proceeded  to  explain.  The 
butler,  Johnny,  a  dingy  young  man,  once  Mrs. 
Knox's  bathchair-attendant,  had  departed  at  8  a.m., 
accompanied  by  Michael  the  pantry  boy,  to  dig  a 
grave  for  a  cousin.  To  those  acquainted  with 
Aussolas  there  was  nothing  remarkable  in  this, 
but  Sybil  Hervey's  china-blue  eyes  opened  wide, 
and  I  heard  her  ask  Bernard  in  a  low  voice  if  he 
thought  it  was  anything  agrarian.  The  annoy- 
ance of  the  cook  at  the  defection  of  the  butler  and 
pantry  boy  was  so  acute  that  she  had  retired  to 
her  room  and  refused  to  send  in  breakfast. 

"That  was  no  more  than  I  should  have  ex- 
pected from  the  servants  here,"  said  Mrs.  Flurry 

238 


Sharper  than  a  Ferret's  Tooth 

vindictively,  "  but  what  was  just  a  little  too  much 
was  finding  the  yard-boy  cramming  the  toast  into 
the  toast-rack  with  his  fingers." 

At  this  my  wife's  niece  uttered  the  loud  yell 
which  all  young  women  with  any  pretension  to 
smartness  have  by  them  for  use  on  emergencies, 
and  exclaimed — 

"Oh,  don't!" 

"  You  needn't  be  frightened,"  said  Mrs.  Flurry, 
giving  Miss  Hervey  the  eighth  part  of  a  glance 
of  her  greeny-grey  eyes  ;  M I  made  this  stuff  my- 
self, and  you  may  all  think  yourselves  lucky  to 
get  anything,"  she  went  on,  "as  one  of  the  herd 
of  incapables  downstairs  said,  '  to  get  as  much  milk 
as'd  do  the  tea  itself,  that  was  the  stratagem ' ! " 

Hard  on  the  heels  of  the  quotation  there  came 
a  rushing  sound  in  the  hall  without,  a  furious 
grappling  with  the  door-handle,  and  the  cook 
herself,  or  rather  the  Tragic  Muse  in  person, 
burst  into  the  room.  Her  tawny  hair  hung  loose 
about  her  head ;  her  yellow-brown  eyes  blazed 
in  an  ashen  and  extremely  handsome  face ;  she 
shook  a  pair  of  freckled  fists  at  the  universe. 
I  cannot  pretend  to  do  more  than  indicate  the 
drift  of  her  denunciation.  Brunhilde,  ascending 
the  funeral  pyre,  with  full  orchestral  accom- 
paniment, could  not  more  fully  and  deafeningly 
have  held  her   audience,  and   the   theme  might 

239 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

have  been  taken  out  of  the  darkest  corner  of  any 
of  the  Sagas. 

The  burying-ground  of  her  clan  was — so  she 
had  been  informed  by  a  swift  runner — even  now 
being  broken  into  by  the  butler  and  the  pantry 
boy,  and  the  graves  of  her  ancestors  were  being 
thrown  open  to  the  Four  Winds  of  the  World,  to 
make  room  for  the  Scuff  of  the  Country  (what- 
ever that  might  mean).  Here  followed  the  most 
capable  and  comprehensive  cursings  of  the  butler 
and  the  pantry  boy  that  it  has  ever  been  my  lot  to 
admire,  delivered  at  lightning  speed,  and  with 
gestures  worthy  of  the  highest  traditions  of 
classic  drama,  the  whole  ending  with  the  state- 
ment that  she  was  on  her  way  to  the  graveyard 
now  to  drink  their  blood. 

"I  trust  you  will,  Kate,"  cordially  responded 
Mrs.  Flurry,  "don't  wait  a  moment!" 

The  Tragic  Muse,  startled  into  an  instant  of 
silence,  stared  wildly  at  Mrs.  Flurry,  seemed  to 
scent  afar  off  the  possibility  that  she  was  not 
being  taken  seriously,  and  whirled  from  the  room, 
a  Vampire  on  the  warpath. 

"I  meant  every  word  I  said  to  her!"  said 
Sally,  looking  round  upon  us  defiantly,  "  I  was 
very  near  offering  her  your  motor,  Mr.  Shute! 
The  sooner  she  kills  Johnny  and  Michael  the 
better  pleased  I  shall  be !     And  I  may  tell  you 

240 


braney's  lake 


Sharper  than  a  Ferret* s  Tooth 

all,"  she  added,  "  that  we  shall  have  no  luncheon 
to-day,  and  most  probably  no  dinner ! " 

"Oh,  that's  all  right!"  said  Philippa,  seeing 
her  chance,  and  hammering  in  her  wedge  with 
all  speed,  "now  there's  nothing  for  it  but  sand- 
wiches and  a  picnic ! " 

The  lake  at  Aussolas  was  one  of  a  winding 
chain  of  three,  connected  by  narrow  channels  cut 
through  the  bog  for  the  passage  of  boats  that 
carried  turf  to  the  lake-side  dwellers.  The  end 
one  of  these,  known  as  Braney's  Lake,  was  a 
recognised  place  for  picnics ;  a  ruined  oratory 
on  a  wooded  point  supplying  the  pretext,  and  a 
reliable  spring  well  completing  the  equipment. 
The  weather  was  of  the  variety  specially  associ- 
ated in  my  mind  with  Philippa's  picnics,  brilliantly 
fine,  with  a  falling  glass,  and  12  o'clock  saw  us 
shoving  out  from  the  Aussolas  turf  quay,  through 
the  reeds  and  the  rocks. 

We  were  a  party  of  six,  in  two  boats ;  diplo- 
macy, whose  I  know  not,  had  so  disposed  matters 
that  Bernard  Shute  and  Sybil  Hervey  were 
despatched  together  in  a  dapper  punt,  and  I, 
realising  to  the  full  the  insignificance  of  my 
position  as  a  married  man,  found  myself  tugging 
at  a  tough  and  ponderous  oar,  in  a  species  of 
barge,  known  to  history  as  "  The-Yallow-Boat- 
that-was-painted-black."      My    wife    and     Mrs. 

241  Q 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  I^M. 

Flurry  took  turns  in  assisting  my  labours  by 
paddling  with  a  scull  in  the  bow,  while  Miss 
Shute  languidly  pulled  the  wrong  string  at  in- 
tervals, in  the  stern.  Why,  I  grumbled  conten- 
tiously,  should,  as  it  were,  fish  be  made  of  Bernard 
and  flesh  be  made  of  me  (which  was  a  highly 
figurative  way  of  describing  a  performance  that 
would  take  a  stone  off  my  weight  ere  all  was 
done).  Why,  I  repeated,  should  not  Bernard 
put  his  broad  back  into  it  in  the  heavy  boat  with 
me,  and  leave  the  punt  for  the  ladies  ?  My  wife 
tore  herself  from  sot  to  voce  gabblings  with  Sally 
in  the  bow  to  tell  me  that  I  was  thoroughly  un- 
sympathetic, what  time  she  dealt  me  an  uninten- 
tional but  none  the  less  disabling  blow  in  the 
spine,  in  her  effort  to  fall  again  into  stroke.  Mrs. 
Flurry,  in  order  to  take  turns  at  the  oar  with 
Philippa,  had  seated  herself  on  the  luncheon 
basket  in  the  bow,  thereby  sinking  the  old  tub 
by  the  head,  and,  as  we  afterwards  found,  causing 
her  to  leak  in  the  sun-dried  upper  seams.  To 
us  travelled  the  voice  of  Bernard,  lightly  propel- 
ling his  skiff  over  the  ruffled  and  sparkling  blue 
water. 

"He's  telling  her  about  all  the  alterations  he's 
going  to  make  at  Clountiss ! "  hissed  Sally  down 
the  back  of  Philippa's  neck. 

"  Almost  actionable ! "  responded  my  wife,  and 
242 


Sharper  than  a  Ferret's  Tooth 

in  her  enthusiasm  her  oar  again  took  me  heavily 
between  the  shoulder  blades. 

We  laboured  out  of  the  Aussolas  lake,  and 
poled  down  the  narrow  channel  into  the  middle 
lake,  where  shallows,  and  a  heavy  summer's 
growth  of  reeds,  did  not  facilitate  our  advance. 
The  day  began  to  cloud  over ;  as  we  wobbled 
out  of  the  second  channel  into  Braney's  lake  the 
sun  went  in,  a  sharp  shower  began  to  whip 
the  water,  and  simultaneously  Miss  Shute  an- 
nounced that  her  feet  were  wet,  and  that  she 
thought  the  boat  must  be  leaking.  I  then  per- 
ceived that  the  water  was  up  to  the  bottom 
boards,  and  was  coming  in  faster  than  I  could 
have  wished.  A  baler  was  required,  and  I  pro- 
ceeded with  confidence  to  search  for  the  rusty 
mustard  tin,  or  cracked  jam-crock,  that  fills  that 
office.     There  was  nothing  to  be  found. 

"  There  are  plenty  of  cups  in  the  luncheon 
basket,"  said  Sally,  tranquilly  ;  '*  Flurry  once  had 
to  bale  this  old  boat  out  with  one  of  his  grand- 
mother's galoshes." 

Philippa  and  I  began  to  row  with  some  vigour, 
while  Sally  wrestled  with  the  fastening  of  the 
luncheon  basket  in  the  bow.  The  lid  opened 
with  a  jerk  and  a  crack.  There  was  one  long 
and  speechless  moment,  and  then  Sally  said  in  a 
very  gentle  voice : 

243 


Further   'Experiences  of  an  Irish  I^M. 

"They've  sent  the  washing-basket,  with  all  the 
clean  clothes ! " 

Of  the  general  bearings  of  this  catastrophe  there 
was  no  time  to  think ;  its  most  pressing  feature 
was  the  fact  that  there  were  no  cups  with  which 
to  bale  the  boat.  I  looked  over  my  shoulder  and 
saw  Bernard  dragging  the  punt  ashore  under  the 
ruined  oratory,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away ;  there 
was  nothing  for  it  but  to  turn  and  make  for  the 
shore  on  our  right  at  the  best  pace  attainable. 
Sally  and  Philippa  double-banked  the  bow  oar, 
and  the  old  boat,  leaking  harder  at  each  moment, 
wallowed  on  towards  a  landing  stage  that  sud- 
denly became  visible  amid  the  reeds — the  bottom 
boards  were  by  this  time  awash,  and  Miss  Shute's 
complexion  and  that  of  her  holland  dress  matched 
to  a  shade. 

"  Could  you  throw  the  washing  overboard  ? "  I 
suggested  over  my  shoulder,  labouring  the  while 
at  my  massy  oar. 

"My — new — nightgowns!"  panted  Mrs.  Flurry, 
11  never ! " 

Just  then  big  rocks  began  to  show  yellow  in 
the  depths,  the  next  moment  the  boat  scraped 
over  one,  and,  almost  immediately  afterwards, 
settled  down  quietly  and  with  dignity  in  some 
three  feet  of  brown  water  and  mud. 

Only  those  who  have  tried  to  get  out  of  a  sub- 
244 


Sharper  than  a  Ferret's  Tooth 

merged  boat,  can  form  any  idea  of  what  then 
befell.  Our  feet  and  legs  turned  to  lead,  the 
water  to  glue,  all  that  was  floatable  in  the  boat 
rose  to  the  surface,  and  lay  about  there  impeding 
our  every  movement.  We  had  foundered  in  sight 
of  port  and  were  not  half-a-dozen  yards  from  the 
landing  stage,  but  to  drag  myself  and  three  women, 
all  up  to  our  waists  in  water,  and  the  ladies  hope- 
lessly handicapped  by  their  petticoats,  over  the 
gunwale  of  a  sunken  boat,  and  to  flounder  ashore 
with  them  in  mud,  over  unsteady  rocks,  and 
through  the  ever-hampering  reeds,  was  infinitely 
more  difficult  and  exhausting  than  it  may 
seem. 

Clasping  a  slimy  post  to  my  bosom  with  one 
arm,  I  was  in  the  act  of  shoving  Miss  Shute  up 
on  to  the  landing  stage,  when  I  heard  the  unmis- 
takeable  Dublin  light  tenor  voice  of  a  McRory 
hail  me,  announcing  that  he  was  coming  to  our 
rescue.  More  distant  shouts,  and  the  rapid 
creaking  of  hard-pulled  oars  told  that  Bernard 
and  Sybil  were  also  speeding  to  our  aid.  The 
three  diplomates,  dripping  on  the  end  of  the  pier, 
looked  at  each  other  bodefully,  and  Philippa  mur- 
mured : 

"The  worst  has  happened!" 

After  that  the  worst  continued  to  happen,  and 
at  a  pace  that  overbore  all  resistance.     Mr.  De 

245 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CR<M. 

Lacy  McRory,  tall  and  beautiful,  in  lily-white 
flannels,  took  the  lead  into  his  own  hands  and 
played  his  game  faultlessly.  Philippa  was  the 
object  of  his  chief  solicitude,  Sally  and  Miss  Shute 
had  their  share  of  a  manly  tenderness  that  re- 
solutely ignored  the  degrading  absurdity  of  their 
appearance ;  his  father's  house,  and  all  that  was 
therein  was  laid  at  our  feet.  Captive  and  helpless, 
we  slopped  and  squelched  beside  him  through  the 
shrubberies  of  Temple  Braney  House,  with  the 
shower,  now  matured  into  a  heavy  down-pour, 
completing  our  saturation,  too  spiritless  to  resent 
the  heavy  pleasantries  of  Bernard,  the  giggling 
condolences  of  Sybil. 

We  have  never  been  able  to  decide  at  which 
moment  the  knife  of  humiliation  cut  deepest, 
whether  it  was  when  we  stood  and  dripped  on 
the  steps,  while  Curly  McRory  summoned  in 
trumpet  tones  his  women-kind,  or  when,  still 
dripping,  we  stood  in  the  hall  and  were  presented 
to  Mrs.  McRory  and  a  troop  of  young  men  and 
maidens,  vociferous  in  sympathy  and  hospitality ; 
or  when,  having  progressed  like  water  carts 
through  the  house,  we  found  ourselves  installed, 
like  the  Plague  of  Frogs,  in  the  bedchambers  of 
the  McRorys,  face  to  face  with  the  supreme  em- 
barrassment of  either  going  to  bed,  or  of  arraying 
ourselves  in  the  all  too  gorgeous  garments  that 

246 


Sharper  than  a  Ferret's  Tooth 

were  flung  before  us  with  a  generous  abandon 
worthy  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh. 

I  chose  the  latter  course,  and,  in  process  of 
time,  found  myself  immaculately  clothed  in  what 
is,  I  believe,  known  to  tailors  as  "a  Lounge  Suit," 
though  not  for  untold  gold  would  I  have  lounged, 
or  by  any  carelessness  endangered  the  perfection 
of  the  creases  of  its  dark  grey  trousers. 

The  luncheon  gong  sounded,  and,  like  the 
leading  gentleman  in  any  drawing-room  drama, 
I  put  forth  from  my  dressing-room,  and  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs  met  my  wife  and  Miss  Shute. 
They  were,  if  possible,  grander  than  I,  and  looked 
as  if  they  were  going  to  a  wedding. 

"  We  had  the  choice  of  about  eighty  silk 
blouses,"  breathed  Philippa,  gathering  up  a  long 
and  silken  train,  "  Sally  has  to  wear  Madame's 
clothes,  nothing  else  were  short  enough.  We're 
in  for  it,  you  know,"  she  added,  "a  luncheon  is 
inevitable,  and  goodness  knows  when  we  can  get 
away,  especially  if  this  rain  lasts — "  her  voice 
broke  hysterically ;  I  turned  and  saw  Mrs.  Flurry 
shuffling  towards  us  in  velvet  slippers,  holding  up 
with  both  hands  a  flowing  purple  brocade  skirt. 
I  pointed  repressively  downwards,  to  where,  in 
the  window  seat  of  the  hall  below,  were  visible  the 
crisped  golden  curls  of  Mr.  De  Lacy  McRory, 
and  the  shining  rolls  and  undulations  of  Miss 

247 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  C^CM. 

Sybil  Hervey's  chevelure.  Their  heads  were  in 
close  proximity,  and  their  voices  were  low  and 
confidential. 

"  This  must  be  put  a  stop  to ! "  said  Philippa, 
rustling  swiftly  downstairs. 

We  all  moved  processionally  in  to  lunch,  arm 
in  arm  with  the  McRorys.  To  Philippa  had 
fallen  old  McRory,  who  was  the  best  of  the  party 
(in  being  so  awful  that  he  knew  he  was  awful). 
He  maintained  an  unbroken  silence  throughout 
the  meal,  but  whistled  jigs  secretly  through  his 
teeth,  a  method  of  keeping  up  his  courage  of 
which  I  believe  he  was  quite  unconscious.  Of 
the  brilliance  of  the  part  that  I  played  with  Mrs. 
McRory  it  would  ill  become  me  to  speak ;  what 
is  more  worthy  of  record  is  the  rapid  and  Upas- 
like growth  of  intimacy  between  Curly  McRory 
and  my  wife's  niece.  She  had  probably  never 
before  encountered  a  young  man  so  anxious  to 
be  agreeable,  so  skilled  in  achieving  that  end. 
The  fact  that  he  was  Irish  accounted,  no  doubt, 
in  her  eyes,  for  all  that  was  unusual  in  his  voice 
and  manners,  and  his  long  eyelashes  did  the  rest. 
Sybil  grew  momently  pinker  and  prettier  as  the 
long,  extraordinary  meal  marched  on. 

Of  its  component  parts  I  can  only  remember 
that  there  was  a  soup  tureen  full  of  custard,  a 
mountainous  dish  of  trifle,   in  whose  veins  ran 

248 


Sharper  than  a  Ferret's  Tooth 

honey,  instead  of  jam,  and  to  whose  enlivenment 
a  bottle  at  least  of  whisky  had  been  dedicated ; 
certainly,  at  one  period,  Philippa  had  on  one  side 
of  her  plate  a  cup  of  soup,  and  on  the  other  a 
cup  of  tea.  Cecilia  Shute  was  perhaps  the  mem- 
ber of  our  party  who  took  it  all  hardest.  Pale 
and  implacable,  attired  in  a  brilliant  blue  garment 
that  was  an  outrage  alike  to  her  convictions 
and  her  complexion,  she  sat  between  two  young 
McRorys,  who  understood  no  more  of  her  language 
than  she  did  of  theirs,  and  was  obliged  to  view 
with  the  frigid  tranquillity  boasted  of  by  Doctor 
Johnson,  the  spectacle  of  her  brother  devoting 
himself  enthusiastically  to  that  McRory  cousin 
whom  Philippa  had  described  as  a  fluffy-haired 
abomination.  Everything,  in  fact,  was  occurring 
that  was  least  desired  by  the  ladies  of  my  party, 
with  the  single  exception  of  my  niece  by  marriage  ; 
and  the  glowing  satisfaction  of  the  McRory  family 
was  not  hid  from  us,  and  did  not  ameliorate  the 
position. 

When  luncheon  was  at  length  brought  to  a 
close  nothing  could  well  have  been  blacker  than 
the  outlook.  The  rain,  and  the  splendour  of  our 
borrowed  plumes,  put  a  return  by  boat  out  of 
the  question.  It  was  a  good  seven  miles  round 
by  road,  and  the  McRory  family,  fleet  and  tire- 
less   bicyclists,   had    but   one   horse,   which    was 

249 


Further   "Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

lame.  A  telegram  to  Aussolas  had  been  de- 
spatched an  hour  ago,  but  as  Mrs.  Flurry  was 
gloomily  certain  that  every  servant  there  had 
gone  to  the  funeral,  the  time  of  our  release  was 
unknown. 

I  do  not  now  distinctly  remember  what  occurred 
immediately  after  lunch,  but  I  know  there  came 
a  period  when  I  found  myself  alone  in  the  hall, 
turning  over  the  pages  of  a  dreary  comic  paper, 
uncertain  what  to  do,  but  determined  on  one 
point,  that  neither  principalities  nor  powers  should 
force  me  into  the  drawing-room,  where  sat  the 
three  unhappy  women  of  my  party,  being  enter- 
tained within  an  inch  of  their  lives  by  Mrs. 
McRory.  Sybil  and  Bernard  and  their  boon 
companions  had  betaken  themselves  to  that  dis- 
tant and  dilapidated  wing  of  the  house  in  which 
I  had  once  unearthed  Tomsy  Flood,  there  to 
play  squash  racquets  in  one  of  the  empty  rooms. 
I  was  consequently  enacting  the  part  laid  down 
for  me  by  my  lounge  suit ;  I  was  lounging,  as 
a  gentleman  should,  without  for  an  instant  dis- 
turbing the  creases  of  my  trousers. 

At  times  I  was  aware  of  the  silent  and  respect- 
ful surveillance  of  Mr.  McRory  in  the  inner  hall, 
but  I  thought  it  best  for  us  both  to  feign  un- 
consciousness of  his  presence.  Through  a  swing 
door  that,  true  to  its  definition,  swung  wheezily 

250 


Sharper  than  a  Ferret's  Tooth 

to  the  cabbage-laden  draughts  from  the  lower 
regions,  I  could  hear  the  tide  of  battle  rolling 
through  the  disused  wing.  The  squash  racquets 
seemed  to  be  of  a  most  pervading  character  ;  the 
thunder  of  rushing  feet,  blent  with  the  long,  pro- 
gressive shriek  of  an  express  train,  would  at 
intervals  approach  almost  to  the  swing  door,  but 
I  remained  unmolested.  I  had  entered  upon  my 
second  cigarette,  and  a  period  of  comparative 
peace,  when  I  heard  a  stealing  foot,  and  found 
at  my  elbow  a  female  McRory  of  about  twelve 
as  years  go,  but  dowered  with  the  accumulated 
experience  of  six  elder  sisters. 

**  Did  Pinkie  and  Mr.  Shute  come  in  this 
way  to  hide  ? "  she  began,  looking  at  me  as  if 
"  Pinkie,"  whoever  she  might  be,  was  in  my 
pocket.  "We're  playing  hide'n-go-seek,  and 
we  can't  find  them." 

I  said  I  knew  nothing  of  them. 

The  McRory  child  looked  at  me  with  supernal 
intelligence  from  under  the  wing  of  dark  hair  that 
was  tied  over  one  ear. 

"  They're  not  playing  fair  anyhow,  and  there's 
Curly  and  Miss  Hervey  that  wouldn't  play  at 
all!"  She  eyed  me  again.  "He  took  her  out 
to  show  her  the  ferrets  and  they  never  came 
back.  I  was  watching  them ;  she  said  one  of 
the  ferrets  bit  her  finger,  and  Curly  kissed  it ! " 

251 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  he  kissed  the  ferret,"  I 
said  repressively,  while  I  thought  of  Alice  Hervey, 
mother  of  Sybil,  and  trembled. 

"  Ah,  go  on  I  what  a  fool  you're  letting  on  to 
be ! "  replied  the  McRory  child,  with  elegant 
sarcasm.  She  swung  round  on  her  heel  and 
sped  away  again  upon  the  trail,  cannoning  against 
old  McRory  in  the  back  hall. 

"  I  tell  you,  that's  the  lady ! "  soliloquised  old 
McRory,  from  the  deep  of  the  back  hall.  I 
gathered  that  he  was  referring  to  the  social 
capacity  of  his  youngest  daughter  and  thought 
he  was  probably  right. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  deliverance  broke 
like  a  sunburst  upon  us ;  I  saw  through  the 
windows  of  the  hall  a  dogcart  and  an  outside 
car  whirl  past  the  door  and  onwards  to  the  yard. 
The  former  was  driven  by  Flurry  Knox,  the  car 
by  Michael  the  Aussolas  pantry  boy,  apparently 
none  the  worse  for  his  encounter  with  the  vampire 
cook.  I  snatched  an  umbrella,  and,  regardless 
of  the  lounge  suit,  followed  with  all  speed  the 
golden  path  of  the  sunburst. 

Flurry,  clad  in  glistening  yellow  oilskins,  met 
me  in  the  yard,  wearing  an  expression  of  ill- 
concealed  exultation  worthy  of  Job's  comforters 
at  their  brightest. 

"  D'ye  know  who  opened  your  wire  ?  "  he  began, 
252 


Sharper  than  a  Ferret's  Tooth 

regarding  me  with  an  all  observant  eye  from 
under  his  sou-wester,  while  the  rain  drops  ran 
down  his  nose.  "  I  can  tell  you  there's  the  Old 
Gentleman  to  pay  at  Aussolas — or  the  old  lady, 
and  that's  worse !  That's  a  nice  suit — you  ought 
to  buy  that  from  Curly." 

"  Who  opened  my  telegram  ?  "  I  said.  I  was 
not  at  all  amused. 

" '  When  she  got  there,  the  cupboard  was 
bare,' "  returned  Flurry.  "  *  Not  a  servant  in 
the  house,  not  a  bit  in  the  larder!  If  it  wasn't 
that  by  the  mercy  of  providence  I  found  the 
picnic  basket  that  you  bright  boys  had  left  after 
you,  she'd  have  torn  the  house  down ! " 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  that  your  grandmother 
has  come  back,"  I  said  stonily. 

"  She  fought  with  her  unfortunate  devil  of  a 
doctor  at  Buxton,"  said  Flurry,  permitting  himself 
a  grin  of  remembrance,  "  he  told  her  she  was  too 
old  to  eat  late  dinner,  and  she  told  him  she  wasn't 
going  to  be  a  slave  to  her  stomach  or  to  him 
either,  and  she'd  eat  her  dinner  when  she  pleased, 
and  she  landed  in  at  Aussolas  by  the  mid-day 
train  without  a  word." 

M  What  did  she  say  when  she  opened  my  tele- 
gram ?  "  I  faltered. 

"She  said  'Thank  God  I'm  not  a  fool!'" 
replied  her  grandson. 

253 


Further   "Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.Af. 

The  proposition  was  unanswerable,  and  I  took 
it,  so  to  speak,  lying  down. 

"Here!"  said  Flurry,  summoning  the  pantry 
boy.  "  These  horses  must  go  in  out  of  the  rain. 
I'll  look  over  there  for  some  place  I  can  put 
them." 

"I  see  Michael. got  back  from  the  funeral,"  I 
said,  following  Flurry  across  the  wide  and  wet 
expanse  of  the  yard,  "  I  suppose  the  cook  killed 
Johnny?" 

"  Ah,  not  at  all,"  said  Flurry,  "  anyway,  my 
grandmother  had  the  two  of  them  up  unpacking 
her  trunks  when  I  left.  Here,  this  place  looks 
like  a  stable " 

He  opened  a  door,  in  front  of  which  a  cascade 
from  a  broken  water-shoot  was  splashing  noisily. 
The  potent  smell  of  ferrets  greeted  us. 

Seated  on  the  ferrets'  box  were  Mr.  De  Lacy 
McRory,  and  Sybil,  daughter  of  Alice  Hervey. 
Apparently  she  had  again  been  bitten  by  the 
ferret,  but  this  time  the  bite  was  not  on  her 
finger. 


254 


XI 

OWENEEN   THE    SPRAT 

I  was  labouring  under  the  slough  of  Christmas 
letters  and  bills,  when  my  wife  came  in  and  asked 
me  if  I  would  take  her  to  the  Workhouse. 

11  My  dear,"  I  replied,  ponderously,  but,  I 
think,  excusably,  "you  have,  as  usual,  anticipated 
my  intention,  but  I  think  we  can  hold  out  until 
after  Christmas." 

Philippa  declined  to  pay  the  jest  the  respect 
to  which  its  age  entitled  it,  and  replied  inconse- 
quently  that  I  knew  perfectly  well  that  she  could 
not  drive  the  outside  car  with  the  children  and 
the  Christmas  tree.  I  assented  that  they  would 
make  an  awkward  team,  and  offered,  as  a  sub- 
stitute for  my  services,  those  of  Denis,  the  stopgap. 

Those  who  live  in  Ireland  best  know  the 
staying  powers  of  stopgaps.  Denis,  uncle  of 
Michael  Leary  the  Whip,  had  been  imported  into 
the  kennels  during  my  ministry,  to  bridge  a 
hiatus  in  the  long  dynasty  of  the  kennel-boys, 
and  had  remained  for  eighteen  months,  a  notable 
instance  of  the  survival  of  what  might  primarily 

255 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  1(.M. 

have  been  considered  the  unfittest.  That  Denis 
should  so  long  have  endured  his  nephew's  rule 
was  due  not  so  much  to  the  tie  of  blood,  as  to  the 


MY  WIFE  CAME   AND   ASKED   ME   IF   I   WOULD   TAKE   HER   TO  THE 
WORKHOUSE 


privileged  irresponsibility  of  a  stopgap.  Nothing 
was  expected  of  him,  and  he  pursued  an  un- 
molested course,  until  the  return  of  Flurry  Knox 
from  South  Africa  changed  the  general  conditions. 
He  then   remained  submerged  until  he  drifted 

256 


Oweneen  the  Sprat 

into  the  gap  formed  in  my  own  establishment  by 
Mr.  Peter  Cadogans  elopement. 

Philippa's  workhouse-tea  took  place  on  Christ- 
mas Eve.  We  were  still  hurrying  through  an 
early  luncheon  when  the  nodding  crest  of  the 
Christmas  tree  passed  the  dining-room  windows. 
My  youngest  son  immediately  upset  his  pudding 
into  his  lap  ;  and  Philippa  hustled  forth  to  put  on 
her  hat,  an  operation  which,  like  the  making  of 
an  omelette,  can  apparently  only  be  successfully 
performed  at  the  last  moment.  With  feelings  of 
mingled  apprehension  and  relief  I  saw  the  party 
drive  from  the  door,  the  Christmas  tree  seated  on 
one  side  of  the  car,  Philippa  on  the  other,  clutching 
her  offspring,  Denis  on  the  box,  embosomed,  like 
a  wood-pigeon,  in  the  boughs  of  the  spruce  fir. 
I  congratulated  myself  that  the  Quaker,  now 
white  with  the  snows  of  many  winters,  was  in  the 
shafts.  Had  I  not  been  too  deeply  engaged  in  so 
arranging  the  rug  that  it  should  not  trail  in  the 
mud  all  the  way  to  Skebawn,  I  might  have 
noticed  that  the  lamps  had  been  forgotten. 

It  was,  as  I  have  said,  Christmas  Eve,  and  as 
the  afternoon  wore  on  I  began  to  reflect  upon 
what  the  road  from  Skebawn  would  be  in  another 
hour,  full  of  drunken  people,  and,  what  was  worse, 
of  carts  steered  by  drunken  people.  I  had 
assured  Philippa  (with  what  I  believe  she  describes 

257  R 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  *Z^.M. 

as  masculine  esprit  de  corps)  of  Denis's  adequacy 
as  a  driver,  but  that  did  not  alter  the  fact  that  in 
the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  I  got  out  my  bicycle 
and  set  forth  for  the  Workhouse.  When  I 
reached  the  town  it  was  dark,  but  the  Christmas 
shoppers  showed  no  tendency  to  curtail  their 
operations  on  that  account,  and  the  streets  were 
filled  with  an  intricate  and  variously  moving  tide 
of  people  and  carts.  The  paraffin  lamps  in  the 
shops  did  their  best,  behind  bunches  of  holly, 
oranges,  and  monstrous  Christmas  candles,  and 
partially  illumined  the  press  of  dark-cloaked 
women,  and  more  or  less  drunken  men,  who 
swayed  and  shoved  and  held  vast  conversations 
on  the  narrow  pavements.  The  red  glare  of  the 
chemist's  globe  transformed  the  leading  female 
beggar  of  the  town  into  a  being  from  the  Brocken; 
her  usual  Christmas  family,  contributed  for  the 
festival  by  the  neighbours,  as  to  a  Christmas 
number,  were  grouped  in  fortunate  ghastliness  in 
the  green  light.  She  extracted  from  me  her  re- 
cognised tribute,  and  pursued  by  her  assurance 
that  she  would  forgive  me  now  till  Easter  (i.e.  that 
further  alms  would  not  be  exacted  for  at  least  a 
fortnight),  I  made  my  way  onward  into  the  outer 
darkness,  beyond  the  uttermost  link  in  the  chain 
of  public-houses. 

The  road  that  led  to  the  Workhouse  led  also 
258 


Oweneen  the  Sprat 

to  the  railway  station ;  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away 
the  green  light  of  a  signal-post  stood  high  in  the 
darkness,  like  an  emerald.  As  I  neared  the 
Workhouse  I  recognised  the  deliberate  footfall 
of  the  Quaker,  and  presently  his  long  pale  face 
entered  the  circle  illuminated  by  my  bicycle- 
lamp.  My  family  were  not  at  all  moved  by  my 
solicitude  for  their  safety,  but,  being  in  want  of 
an  audience,  were  pleased  to  suggest  that  I 
should  drive  home  with  them.  The  road  was 
disgustingly  muddy ;  I  tied  my  bicycle  to  the 
back  of  the  car  with  the  rope  that  is  found  in 
wells  of  all  outside  cars.  It  was  not  till  I  had  put 
out  the  bicycle  lamp  that  I  noticed  that  the  car- 
lamps  had  been  forgotten,  but  Denis,  true  to  the 
convention  of  his  tribe,  asseverated  that  he  could 
see  better  without  lights.  I  took  the  place 
vacated  by  the  Christmas  tree,  the  Quaker 
pounded  on  at  his  usual  stone-breaking  trot, 
and  my  offspring,  in  strenuous  and  entangled 
duet,  declaimed  to  me  the  events  of  the  afternoon. 
It  was  without  voice  or  warning  that  a  row  of 
men  was  materialised  out  of  the  darkness,  under 
the  Quaker's  nose;  they  fell  away  to  right  and 
left,  but  one,  as  if  stupefied,  held  on  his  way  in 
the  middle  of  the  road.  It  is  not  easy  to  divert 
the  Quaker  from  his  course ;  we  swung  to  the 
right,  but  the  wing  of  the  car,  on  my  side,  struck 

259 


Further    "Experiences  of  an  Irish  CB<M, 

the  man  full  in  the  chest.  He  fell  as  instantly 
and  solidly  as  if  he  were  a  stone  pillar,  and,  like 
a  stone,  he  lay  in  the  mud.  Loud  and  inebriate 
howls  rose  from  the  others,  and,  as  if  in  answer, 
came  a  long  and  distant  shriek  from  an  incoming 
train.  Upon  this,  without  bestowing  an  instant's 
further  heed  to  their  fallen  comrade,  the  party 
took  to  their  heels  and  ran  to  the  station.  It 
was  all  done  in  a  dozen  seconds ;  by  the  time 
the  Quaker  was  pulled  up  we  were  alone  with 
our  victim,  and  Denis  was  hoarsely  suggesting 
to  me  that  it  would  be  better  to  drive  away  at 
once.  I  have  often  since  then  regretted  that  I 
did  not  take  his  advice. 

The  victim  was  a  very  small  man ;  Denis  and 
I  dragged  him  to  the  side  of  the  road,  and 
propped  him  up  against  the  wall.  He  was  of 
an  alarming  limpness,  but  there  was  a  something 
reassuring  in  the  reek  of  whisky  that  arose  as 
I  leaned  over  him,  trying  to  diagnose  his  injuries 
by  the  aid  of  a  succession  of  lighted  matches. 
His  head  lay  crookedly  on  his  chest ;  he  breathed 
heavily,  but  peacefully,  and  his  limbs  seemed  un- 
injured. Denis  at  my  elbow,  did  not  cease  to 
assure  me,  tremulously,  that  there  was  nothing 
ailed  the  man,  that  he  was  a  stranger,  and  that 
it  would  be  as  good  for  us  to  go  home.  Philippa, 
on  the  car,  strove  as  best  she  might  with  the 

260 


Oweneen  the  Sprat 

unappeasable  curiosity  of  her  sons  and  with  the 
pigheaded  anxiety  of  the  Quaker  to  get  home 
to  his  dinner.  At  this  juncture  a  voice,  fifty  yards 
away  in  the  darkness,  uplifted  itself  in  song — 

"  Heaven's  refle-hex !  Killa-ar-ney  1 " 

it  bawled  hideously. 

It  fell  as  balm  upon  my  ear,  in  its  assurance 
of  the  proximity  of  Slipper. 

"  Sure  I  know  the  man  well,"  he  said,  shielding 
the  flame  of  a  match  in  his  hand  with  practised 
skill.  "Wake  up,  me  bouchaleen!"  He  shook 
him  unmercifully.     "  Open  your  eyes,  darlin' ! " 

The  invalid  here  showed  signs  of  animation 
by  uttering  an  incoherent  but,  as  it  seemed,  a 
threatening  roar.  It  lifted  Denis  as  a  feather  is 
lifted  by  a  wind,  and  wafted  him  to  the  Quaker's 
head,  where  he  remained  in  strict  attention  to  his 
duties.     It  also  lifted  Philippa. 

"  Is  he  very  bad,  do  you  think  ? "  she  mur- 
mured at  my  elbow.  "  Shall  I  drive  for  the 
doctor  ?  " 

"  Arrah,  what  docthor?"  said  Slipper  magnifi- 
cently. "  Give  me  a  half-a-crown,  Major,  and 
I'll  get  him  what  meddyceen  will  answer  him  as 
good  as  any  docthor !  Lave  him  to  me ! "  He 
shook  him  again.     "I'll  regulate  him  ! " 

The  victim  here  sat  up,  and  shouted  something 
261 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CR<M. 

about  going  home.  He  was  undoubtedly  very 
drunk.  It  seemed  to  me  that  Slipper's  ministra- 
tions would  be  more  suitable  to  the  situation  than 
mine,  certainly  than  Philippa's.  I  administered 
the  solatium ;  then  I  placed  Denis  on  the  box 
of  the  car  with  the  bicycle-lamp  in  his  hand,  and 
drove  my  family  home. 

After  church  next  day  we  met  Flurry  Knox. 
He  approached  us  with  the  green  glint  in  his 
eye  that  told  that  game  was  on  foot,  whatever 
that  game  might  be. 

"  Who  bailed  you  out,  Mrs.  Yeates  ? "  he  said 
solicitously.  "  I  heard  you  and  the  Major  and 
Denis  Leary  were  all  in  the  lock-up  for  furious 
driving  and  killing  a  man !  I'm  told  he  was 
anointed  last  night." 

Philippa  directed  what  she  believed  to  be  a 
searching  glance  at  Flurry's  face  of  friendly 
concern. 

M  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it ! "  she  said  daunt- 
lessly,  while  a  very  becoming  warmth  in  her 
complexion  betrayed  an  inward  qualm.  "  Who 
told  you  ? " 

"The  servants  heard  it  at  first  Mass  this  morn- 
ing; and  Slipper  had  me  late  for  church  telling 
me  about  it.  The  fellow  says  if  he  lives  he's 
going  to  take  an  action  against  the  Major." 

I  listened  with,  I  hope,  outward  serenity.  In 
262 


Oweneen  the  Sprat 

dealings  with  Flurry  Knox  the  possibility  that 
he  might  be  speaking  the  truth  could  never 
safely  be  lost  sight  of.  It  was  also  well  to 
remember  that  he  generally  knew  what  the 
truth  was. 

I  said  loftily,  that  there  had  been  nothing  the 
matter  with  the  man  but  Christmas  Eve,  and 
inquired  if  Flurry  knew  his  name  and  address. 

"Of  course  I  do,"  said  Flurry,  "he's  one  of 
those  mountainy  men  that  live  up  in  the  hill 
behind  Aussolas.  Oweneen  the  Sprat  is  the 
name  he  goes  by,  and  he's  the  crossest  little 
thief  in  the  Barony.  Never  mind,  Mrs.  Yeates, 
I'll  see  you  get  fair  play  in  the  dock ! " 

"  How  silly  you  are ! "  said  Philippa ;  but  I 
could  see  that  she  was  shaken. 

Whatever  Flurry's  servants  may  have  heard 
at  first  Mass,  was  apparently  equalled,  if  not 
excelled,  by  what  Denis  heard  at  second.  He 
asked  me  next  morning,  with  a  gallant  attempt 
at  indifference,  if  I  had  had  any  word  of  "  the 
man-een." 

"'Twas  what  the  people  were  saying  on  the 
roads  last  night  that  he  could  have  the  law  of  us, 
and  there  was  more  was  saying  that  he'd  never 
do  a  day's  good.  Sure  they  say  the  backbone  is 
cracked  where  the  wheel  of  the  car  went  over  him ! 
But  didn't  yourself  and  the  misthress  swear  black 

263 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.M. 

and  blue  that  the  wheel  never  went  next  or  nigh 
him  ?  And  didn't  Michael  say  that  there  wasn't 
a  Christmas  this  ten  years  that  that  one  hadn't 
a  head  on  him  the  size  of  a  bullawawn  with  the 
len'tho'dhrink?" 

In  spite  of  the  contributory  negligence  that 
might  be  assumed  in  the  case  of  any  one  with 
this  singular  infirmity,  I  was  not  without  a  secret 
uneasiness.  Two  days  afterwards  I  received  a 
letter,  written  on  copybook  paper  in  a  clerkly 
hand.  It  had  the  Aussolas  post-mark,  in  addition 
to  the  imprint  of  various  thumbs,  and  set  forth 
the  injuries  inflicted  by  me  and  my  driver  on 
Owen  Twohig  on  Christmas  Eve,  and  finally,  it 
demanded  a  compensation  of  twenty  pounds  for 
the  same.  Failing  this  satisfaction  the  law  was 
threatened,  but  a  hope  was  finally  expressed  that 
the  honourable  gentleman  would  not  see  a  poor 
man  wronged  ;  it  was,  in  fact,  the  familiar  mix- 
ture of  bluff  and  whine,  and,  as  I  said  to  Philippa, 
the  Man-een  (under  which  title  he  had  passed 
into  the  domestic  vocabulary)  had  of  course  got 
hold  of  a  letter  writer  to  do  the  trick  for  him. 

In  the  next  day  or  so  I  met  Flurry  twice,  and 
found  him  so  rationally  interested,  and  even  con- 
cerned, about  fresh  versions  of  the  accident  that 
had  cropped  up,  that  I  was  moved  to  tell  him  of 
the  incident  of  the  letter.    He  looked  serious,  and 

264 


Oweneen  the  Sprat 

said  he  would  go  up  himself  to  see  what  was 
wrong  with  Oweneen.  He  advised  me  to  keep 
out  of  it  for  the  present,  as  they  might  open  their 
mouths  too  big. 

The  moon  was  high  as  I  returned  from  this 
interview  ;  when  I  wheeled  my  bicycle  into  the 
yard  I  found  that  the  coach-house  in  which  I  was 
wont  to  stable  it  was  locked ;  so  also  was  the 
harness-room.  Attempting  to  enter  the  house  by 
the  kitchen  door  I  found  it  also  was  locked ;  a 
gabble  of  conversation  prevailed  within,  and  with 
the  mounting  indignation  of  one  who  hears  but 
cannot  make  himself  heard,  I  banged  ferociously 
on  the  door.  Silence  fell,  and  Mrs.  Cadogan's 
voice  implored  heaven's  protection. 

■  Open  the  door !  "  I  roared. 

A  windlike  rush  of  petticoats  followed,  through 
which  came  sibilantly  the  words,  "  Glory  be  to 
goodness !     'Tis  the  masther ! " 

The  door  opened,  I  found  myself  facing  the 
entire  strength  of  my  establishment,  including 
Denis,  and  augmented  by  Slipper. 

"They  told  me  you  were  asking  afther  me, 
Major,"  began  Slipper,  descending  respectfully  from 
the  kitchen  table,  on  which  he  had  been  seated. 

I  noticed  that  Mrs.  Cadogan  was  ostentatiously 
holding  her  heart,  and  that  Denis  was  shaking 
like  the  conventional  aspen. 

265 


Further    "Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.M. 

"  What's  all  this  about  ?  "  said  I,  looking  round 
upon  them.    "Why  is  the  whole  place  locked  up?" 

"  It  was  a  little  unaisy  they  were,"  said  Slipper, 
snatching  the  explanation  from  Mrs.  Cadogan 
with  the  determination  of  the  skilled  leader  of 
conversation  ;  "I  was  telling  them  I  seen  two 
men  below  in  the  plantation,  like  they'd  be  watch- 
ing out  for  some  one,  and  poor  Mr.  Leary  here 
got  a  reeling  in  his  head  after  I  telling  it " 

"  Indeed  the  crayture  was  as  white,  now,  as 
white  as  a  masheroon ! "  broke  in  Mrs.  Cadogan, 
"  and  we  dhrew  him  in  here  to  the  fire  till  your 
Honour  came  home." 

"  Nonsense  ! "  I  said  angrily,  "  a  couple  of  boys 
poaching  rabbits!  Upon  my  word,  Slipper,  you 
have  very  little  to  do  coming  here  and  frightening 
people  for  nothing." 

"What  did  I  say?"  demanded  Slipper,  drama- 
tically facing  his  audience,  "  only  that  I  seen  two 
men  in  the  plantation.  How  would  I  know  what 
business  they  had  in  it  ? " 

14  Ye  said  ye  heard  them  whishling  to  each 
other  like  curlews  through  the  wood,"  faltered 
Denis,  "  and  sure  that's  the  whishle  them  Two- 
higs  has  always " 

"  Maybe  it's  whistling  to  the  girls  they  were ! " 
suggested  Slipper,  with  an  unabashed  eye  at 
Hannah. 

266 


Oweneen  the  Sprat 

I  told  him  to  come  up  with  me  to  my  office, 
and  stalked  from  the  kitchen,  full  of  the  comfort- 
less wrath  that  has  failed  to  find  a  suitable 
victim. 

The  interview  in  the  office  did  not  last  long, 
nor  was  it  in  any  way  reassuring.  Slipper,  with 
the  manner  of  the  confederate  who  had  waded 
shoulder  to  shoulder  with  me  through  gore,  could 
only  tell  me  that  though  he  believed  that  there 
was  nothing  ailed  the  Man-een,  he  wouldn't  say 
but  what  he  might  be  sevarely  hurted.  That  I 
wasn't  gone  five  minutes  before  near  a  score  of 
the  Twohigs  come  leathering  down  out  of  the 
town  in  two  ass-butts  (this  term  indicates  donkey- 
carts  of  the  usual  dimensions),  and  when  Owen- 
een felt  them  coming,  he  let  the  most  unmarci- 
ful  screech,  upon  which  Slipper,  in  just  fear  of 
the  Twohigs,  got  over  the  wall,  and  executed  a 
strategic  retreat  upon  the  railway  station,  leaving 
the  Twohigs  to  carry  away  their  wounded  to  the 
mountains.  That  for  himself  he  had  been  going 
in  dread  of  them  ever  since,  and  for  no  one  else 
in  the  wide  world  would  he  have  put  a  hand  to 
one  of  them. 

I  preserved  an  unshaken  front  towards  Slipper, 
and  I  was  subsequently  sarcastic  and  epigram- 
matic to  Philippa  on  the  subject  of  the  curlews 
who  were  rabbiting  in  the  plantation,  but  some- 

267 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  1$jM. 

thing  that  I  justified  to  myself  as  a  fear  of  Philip- 
pa's  insatiable  conscientiousness,  made  me  re- 
solve that  I  would,  without  delay,  go  "  back  in  the 
mountain,"  and  interview  Oweneen  the  Sprat. 

New  Year's  Day  favoured  my  purpose,  bring- 
ing with  it  clear  frost  and  iron  roads,  a  day  when 
even  the  misanthropic  soul  of  a  bicycle  awakens 
into  sympathy  and  geniality.  I  started  in  the 
sunny  vigour  of  the  early  afternoon,  I  sailed  up  the 
hills  with  the  effortless  speed  of  a  seagull,  I  free- 
wheeled down  them  with  the  dive  of  a  swallow, 
and,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  with  a  good  deal  of  its 
grace.  Had  Oweneen  the  Sprat  had  the  luck  to 
have  met  me,  when,  at  the  seventh  milestone 
from  Shreelane,  I  realised  that  I  had  beaten  my 
own  best  time  by  seven  minutes,  he  could  practi- 
cally have  made  his  own  terms.  At  that  point, 
however,  I  had  to  leave  the  high  road,  and  the 
mountain  lane  that  ensued  restored  to  me  the 
judicial  frame  of  mind.  In  the  first  twenty  yards 
my  bicycle  was  transformed  from  a  swallow  to  an 
opinionated  and  semi -paralysed  wheelbarrow ; 
struggling  in  a  species  of  dry  watercourse  I 
shoved  it  up  the  steep  gradients  of  a  large  and 
brown  country  of  heather  and  bog,  silent  save  for 
the  contending  voices  of  the  streams.  A  family 
of  goats,  regarding  me  from  a  rocky  mound,  was 
the   first   hint   of    civilisation ;    a   more   reliable 

268 


Oiveneen  the  Sprat 

symptom  presently  advanced  in  the  shape  of  a 
lean  and  hump-backed  sow,  who  bestowed  on  me 
a  side  glance  of  tepid  interest  as  she  squeezed 
past. 

The  bohireen  dropped,  with  a  sudden  twist  to 
the  right,  and  revealed  a  fold  in  the  hillside,  con- 
taining a  half  dozen  or  so  of  little  fields,  crooked, 
and  heavily  walled,  and  nearly  as  many  thatched 
cabins,  flung  about  in  the  hollows  as  indiscrimi- 
nately as  the  boulders  upon  the  wastes  outside. 
A  group  of  children  rose  in  front  of  me  like  a 
flight  of  starlings,  and  scudded  with  barefooted 
nimbleness  to  the  shelter  of  the  houses,  in  a  pat- 
tering, fluttering  stampede.  I  descended  upon 
the  nearest  cabin  of  the  colony.  The  door  was 
shut ;  a  heavy  padlock  linking  two  staples  said 
Not  at  Home,  and  the  nose  of  a  dog  showed  in  a 
hole  above  the  sill,  sniffing  deeply  and  sus- 
piciously. I  remembered  that  the  first  of  January 
was  a  holy-day,  and  that  every  man  in  the  colony 
had  doubtless  betaken  himself  to  the  nearest 
village.  The  next  cottage  was  some  fifty  yards 
away,  and  the  faces  of  a  couple  of  children 
peered  at  me  round  the  corner  of  it.  As  I  ap- 
proached they  vanished,  but  the  door  of  the  cabin 
was  open,  and  blue  turf  smoke  breathed  placidly 
outwards  from  it.  The  merciful  frost  had  glazed 
the   inevitable   dirty  pool  in  front  of  the   door, 

269 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  I^M. 

and  had  made  practicable  the  path  beside  it ;  I 
propped  my  bicycle  against  a  rock,  and  projected 
into  the  dark  interior  an  inquiry  as  to  whether 
there  was  any  one  in. 

I  had  to  repeat  it  twice  before  a  small  old 
woman  with  white  hair  and  a  lemon-coloured 
face  appeared ;  I  asked  her  if  she  could  tell  me 
where  Owen  Twohig  lived. 

"Your  Honour's  welcome,"  she  replied,  tying 
the  strings  of  her  cap  under  her  chin  with  wiry 
fingers,  and  eyeing  me  with  concentrated  shrewd- 
ness.    I  repeated  the  question. 

She  responded  by  begging  me  to  come  in  and 
rest  myself,  for  this  was  a  cross  place  and  a  back- 
wards place,  and  I  should  be  famished  with  the 
cold — "  sure  them  little  wheels  dhraws  the  wind." 

I  ignored  this  peculiarity  of  bicycles,  and,  not 
without  exasperation,  again  asked  for  Owen 
Twohig. 

14  Are  you  Major  Yeates,  I  beg  your  pardon  ?" 
I  assented  to  what  she  knew  as  well  as  I 
did. 

"  Why  then  'tis  here  he  lives  indeed,  in  this 
little  house,  and  a  poor  place  he  have  to  live  in. 
Sure  he's  my  son,  the  crayture — "  her  voice  at 
once  ascended  to  the  key  of  lamentation — "  faith, 
he  didn't  rise  till  to-day.  Since  Christmas  Eve  I 
didn't  quinch  light  in  the  house  with  him  stretched 

270 


Oweneen  the  Sprat 

in  the  bed  always,  and  not  a  bit  passed  his  lips 
night  or  day,  only  one  suppeen  of  whisky  in  its 
purity.  Ye'd  think  the  tongue  would  light  out  of 
his  mouth  with  the  heat,  and  ye'd  see  the  blaze 
of  darkness  in  his  face!  I  hadn't  as  much  life 
in  me  this  morning  as  that  I  could  wash  my 
face!" 

I  replied  that  I  wanted  to  speak  to  her  son, 
and  was  in  a  hurry. 

"He's  not  within,  asthore,  he's  not  within  at 
all.  He  got  the  lend  of  a  little  donkey,  and 
he  went  back  the  mountain  to  the  bone- 
setter,  to  try  could  he  straighten  the  leg  with 
him." 

"  Did  Dr.  Hickey  see  him?"  I  demanded. 

"  Sure  a  wise  woman  came  in  from  Finnaun, 
a'  Stephen's  Day,"  pursued  Mrs.  Twohig  swiftly, 
"and  she  bet  three  spits  down  on  him,  and 
she  said  it's  what  ailed  him  he  had  the  Fallen 
Palate,  with  the  dint  o'  the  blow  the  car  bet  him 
in  the  poll,  and  that  any  one  that  have  the  Fallen 
Palate  might  be  speechless  for  three  months  with 
it.  She  took  three  ribs  of  his  hair  then,  and  she 
was  pulling  them  till  she  was  in  a  passpiration, 
and  in  the  latther  end  she  pulled  up  the  palate." 
She  paused  and  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  apron. 
"  But  the  leg  is  what  has  him  destroyed  alto- 
gether ;  she  told  us  we  should  keep  sheep's  butter 

271 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

rubbed  to  it  in  the  place  where  the  thrack  o'  the 
wheel  is  down  in  it." 

The  blush  of  a  frosty  sunset  was  already  in  the 
sky,  and  the  children  who  had  fled  before  me  had 
returned,  reinforced  by  many  others,  to  cluster  in 
a  whispering  swarm  round  my  bicycle,  and  to 
group  themselves  attentively  in  the  rear  of  the 
conversation. 

"  Look  here,  Mrs.  Twohig,"  I  said,  not  as  yet 
angry,  but  in  useful  proximity  to  it,  "  I've  had  a 
letter  from  your  son,  and  he  and  his  friends  have 
been  trying  to  frighten  my  man,  Denis  Leary ; 
he  can  come  down  and  see  me  if  he  has  anything 
to  say,  but  you  can  tell  him  from  me  that  I'm 
not  going  to  stand  this  sort  of  thing ! " 

If  the  Widow  Twohig  had  been  voluble  before, 
this  pronouncement  had  the  effect  of  bringing  her 
down  in  spate.  She  instantly,  and  at  the  top  of 
her  voice,  called  heaven  to  witness  her  innocence, 
and  the  innocence  of  her  "little  boy";  still  at 
full  cry,  she  sketched  her  blameless  career,  and 
the  unmerited  suffering  that  had  ever  pursued 
her  and  hers ;  how,  during  the  past  thirty  years, 
she  had  been  drooping  over  her  little  orphans, 
and  how  Oweneen,  that  was  the  only  one  she 
had  left  to  do  a  hand's  turn  for  her,  would  be 
"  under  clutches  "  the  longest  day  that  he'd  live. 
It  was  at  about  this  point  that  I  gave  her  five 

272 


Oweneen  the  Sprat 

shillings.  It  was  a  thoroughly  illogical  act,  but 
at  the  moment  it  seemed  inevitable,  and  Mrs. 
Twohig  was  good  enough  to  accept  it  in  the 
same  spirit.  I  told  her  that  I  would  send  Dr. 
Hickey  to  see  her  son  (which  had,  it  struck  me, 
a  somewhat  stemming  effect  upon  her  eloquence), 
and  I  withdrew,  still  in  magisterial  displeasure. 
I  must  have  been  half  way  down  the  lane  before 
it  was  revealed  to  me  that  a  future  on  crutches 
was  what  Mrs.  Twohig  anticipated  for  her 
son. 

By  that  night's  post  I  wrote  to  Hickey,  a 
strictly  impartial  letter,  stating  the  position,  and 
asking  him  to  see  Owen  Twohig,  and  to  let  me 
have  his  professional  opinion  upon  him.  Philippa 
added  a  postscript,  asking  for  a  nerve-tonic  for 
the  parlour-maid,  a  Dublin  girl,  who,  since  the 
affair  of  the  curlews  in  the  plantation,  had  lost  all 
colour  and  appetite,  and  persisted  in  locking  the 
hall  door  day  and  night,  to  the  infinite  annoyance 
of  the  dogs. 

Next  morning,  while  hurrying  through  an  early 
breakfast,  preparatory  to  starting  for  a  distant 
Petty  Sessions,  I  was  told  that  Denis  wished  to 
speak  to  me  at  the  hall  door.  This,  as  I  before 
have  had  occasion  to  point  out,  boded  affairs  of 
the  first  importance.  I  proceeded  to  the  hall 
door,  and  there  found  Denis,  pale  as  the   Lily 

273  S 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  I^M. 

Maid  of  Astolat,  with  three  small  fishes  in  his 
hand. 

"There  was  one  of  thim  before  me  in  my  bed 
lasht  night ! "  he  said  in  a  hoarse  and  shaken 
whisper,  "  and  there  was  one  in  the  windy  in  the 
harness-room,  down  on  top  o'  me  razor,  and  there 
was  another  nelt  to  the  stable  door  with  the  nail 
of  a  horse's  shoe." 

I  made  the  natural  suggestion  that  some  one 
had  done  it  for  a  joke. 

"  Thim's  no  joke,  sir,"  replied  Denis,  por- 
tentously, "  thim's  Sprats !  " 

"Well,  I'm  quite  aware  of  that,"  I  said,  un- 
moved by  what  appeared  to  be  the  crushing 
significance  of  the  statement. 

"Oweneen  the  Sprat!"  murmured  Philippa, 
illuminatingly,  emerging  from  the  dining-room 
door  with  her  cup  of  tea  in  her  hand,  "  it's 
Hannah,  trying  to  frighten  him ! " 

Hannah,  the  housemaid,  was  known  to  be  the 
humorist  of  the  household. 

"  He  have  a  brother  a  smith,  back  in  the 
mountain,"  continued  Denis,  wrapping  up  the 
sprats  and  the  nail  in  his  handkerchief;  "'twas 
for  a  token  he  put  the  nail  in  it.  If  he  dhraws 
thim  mountainy  men  down  on  me,  I  may  as 
well  go  under  the  sod.  It  isn't  yourself  or  the 
misthress  they'll  folly ;   it's  meself."     He  crept 

274 


Oweneen  the  Sprat 

down  the  steps  as  deplorably  as  the  Jackdaw  of 
Rheims,  "  and  it's  what  Michael's  after  telling  me, 


•'thim's  no  joke,  sir,  thim's  SPRATS  1" 

they  have  it  all  through  the  country  that  I  said 
you  should  throw  Twohig  in  the  ditch,  and  it 
was  good  enough  for  the  likes  of  him,  and  I  said 

275 


Further    'Experiences  of  an  Irish  CR^M. 

to  Michael  'twas  a  lie  for  them,  and  that  we  cared 
him  as  tender  as  if  he  was  our  mother  itself,  and 
we'd  have  given  the  night  to  him  only  for  the 
misthress  that  was  roaring  on  the  car,  and  no 
blame  to  her ;  sure  the  world  knows  the  mother 
o'  children  has  no  courage ! " 

This  drastic  generality  was  unfortunately  lost 
to  my  wife,  as  she  had  retired  to  hold  a  court  of 
inquiry  in  the  kitchen. 

The  inquiry  elicited  nothing  beyond  the  fact 
that  since  Christmas  Day  Denis  was  "using  no 
food,"  and  that  the  kitchen,  so  far  from  indulging 
in  practical  jokes  at  his  expense,  had  been  instant 
throughout  in  sympathy,  and  in  cups  of  strong 
tea,  administered  for  the  fortification  of  the  nerves. 
All  were  obviously  deeply  moved  by  the  incident 
of  the  sprats,  the  parlour-maid,  indeed,  having 
already  locked  herself  into  the  pantry,  through 
the  door  of  which,  on  Philippa's  approach,  she 
gave  warning  hysterically. 

The  matter  remained  unexplained,  and  was 
not  altogether  to  my  liking.  As  I  drove  down 
the  avenue,  and  saw  Denis  carefully  close  the 
yard  gates  after  me,  I  determined  that  I  would 
give  Murray,  the  District  Inspector  of  Police,  a 
brief  sketch  of  the  state  of  affairs.  I  did  not 
meet  Murray,  but,  as  it  happened,  this  made 
no  difference.     Things   were  already  advancing 

276 


Oweneen  the  Sprat 

smoothly  and  inexorably  towards  their  preordained 
conclusion. 

I  have  since  heard  that  none  of  the  servants 
went  to  bed  that  night.  They,  including  Denis, 
sat  in  the  kitchen,  with  locked  doors,  drinking 
tea  and  reciting  religious  exercises ;  Maria,  as  a 
further  precaution,  being  chained  to  the  leg  of 
the  table.  Their  fears  were  in  no  degree  allayed 
by  the  fact  that  nothing  whatever  occurred,  and 
the  most  immediate  result  of  the  vigil  was  that 
my  bath  next  morning  boiled  as  it  stood  in  the 
can,  and  dimmed  the  room  with  clouds  of  steam 
— a  circumstance  sufficiently  rare  in  itself,  and 
absolutely  without  precedent  on  Sunday  morn- 
ing. The  next  feature  of  the  case  was  a  letter 
at  breakfast  time  from  a  gentleman  signing 
himself  "  Jas.  Fitzmaurice."  He  said  that  Dr. 
Hickey  having  gone  away  for  a  fortnight's  holi- 
day, he  (Fitzmaurice)  was  acting  as  his  locum 
tenens.  In  that  capacity  he  had  opened  my 
letter,  and  would  go  and  see  Twohig  as  soon 
as  possible.  He  enclosed  prescription  for  tonic 
as  requested. 

It  was  a  threatening  morning,  and  we  did  not 
go  to  church.  I  noticed  that  my  wife's  house- 
keeping stance  was  unusually  prolonged,  and 
even  while  I  smoked  and  read  the  papers,  I 
was  travelling  in   my  meditations  to  the  point 

277 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  I^M. 

of  determining  that  I  would  have  a  talk  with  the 
priest  about  all  this  infernal  nonsense.  When 
Philippa  at  length  rejoined  me,  I  found  that  she 
also  had  arrived  at  a  conclusion,  impelled  thereto 
by  the  counsels  of  Mrs.  Cadogan,  abetted  by  her 
own  conscience. 

Its  result  was  that  immediately  after  lunch, 
long  before  the  Sunday  roast  beef  had  been  slept 
off,  I  found  myself  carting  precarious  parcels — 
a  jug,  a  bottle,  a  pudding-dish — to  the  inside 
car,  in  which  Philippa  had  already  placed  her- 
self, with  a  pair  of  blankets  and  various  articles 
culled  from  my  wardrobe  (including  a  pair  of 
boots  to  which  I  was  sincerely  attached).  Denis, 
pale  yellow  in  complexion  and  shrouded  in  gloom, 
was  on  the  box,  the  Quaker  was  in  the  shafts. 
There  was  no  rain,  but  the  clouds  hung  black 
and  low. 

It  was  an  expedition  of  purest  charity ;  so 
Philippa  explained  to  me  over  again  as  we 
drove  away.  She  said  nothing  of  propitiation 
or  diplomacy.  For  my  part  I  said  nothing  at 
all,  but  I  reflected  on  the  peculiar  gifts  of  the 
Dublin  parlour-maid  in  valeting  me,  and  decided 
that  it  might  be  better  to  allow  Philippa  to  run 
the  show  on  her  own  lines,  while  I  maintained 
an  attitude  of  large-minded  disapproval. 

The  blankets  took  up  as  much  room  in  the  car 
278 


Oweneen  the  Sprat 

as  a  man  ;  I  had  to  hold  in  my  hand  a  jug  of 
partly  jellified  beef  tea.  A  sourer  Lady  Bountiful 
never  set  forth  upon  an  errand  of  mercy.  To 
complete  establishment  —  in  the  words  of  the 
Gazette — Maria  and  Minx,  on  the  floor  of  the 
car,  wrought  and  strove  in  ceaseless  and  object- 
less agitation,  an  infliction  due  to  the  ferocity  of 
a  female  rival,  who  terrorised  the  high  road 
within  hail  of  my  gates.  I  thanked  heaven  that 
I  had  at  least  been  firm  about  not  taking  the 
children  ;  for  the  dogs,  at  all  events,  the  moment 
of  summary  ejectment  would  arrive  sooner  or  later. 
Seven  miles  in  an  inside  car  are  seven  miles 
indeed.  The  hills  that  had  run  to  meet  my 
bicycle  and  glided  away  behind  it,  now  sat  in 
their  places  to  be  crawled  up  and  lumbered  down, 
at  such  a  pace  as  seemed  good  to  the  Quaker, 
whose  appetite  for  the  expedition  was,  if  pos- 
sible, less  than  that  of  his  driver.  Appetite  was, 
indeed,  the  last  thing  suggested  by  the  aspect 
of  Denis.  His  drooping  shoulders  and  deplor- 
able countenance  proclaimed  apology  and  depreca- 
tion to  the  mountain  tops,  and  more  especially 
to  the  mountainy  men.  Looking  back  on  it 
now,  I  recognise  the  greatness  of  the  tribute  to 
my  valour  and  omnipotence  that  he  should  have 
consented  thus  to  drive  us  into  the  heart  of  the 
enemy's  country. 

279 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CE^M. 

A  steep  slope,  ending  with  a  sharp  turn  through 
a  cutting,  reminded  me  that  we  were  near  the 
mountain  bohireen  that  was  our  goal.  I  got  out 
and  walked  up  the  hill,  stiffly,  because  the  cramp 
of  the  covered  car  was  in  my  legs.  Stiff  though 
I  was,  I  had  outpaced  the  Quaker,  and  was  near 
the  top  of  the  hill,  when  something  that  was 
apparently  a  brown  croquet -ball  rolled  swiftly 
round  the  bend  above  me,  charged  into  the  rock 
wall  of  the  cutting  with  a  clang,  and  came  on 
down  the  hill  with  a  weight  and  venom  unknown 
to  croquet-balls.  It  sped  past  me,  missed  the 
Quaker  by  an  uncommonly  near  shave,  and  went 
on  its  way,  hotly  pursued  by  the  two  dogs,  who, 
in  the  next  twenty  yards,  discovered  with  horror 
that  it  was  made  of  iron,  a  fact  of  which  I  was 
already  aware. 

I  have  always  been  as  lenient  as  the  law,  and 
other  circumstances,  would  allow  towards  the 
illegal  game  of  "  bowling."  It  consists  in  bowling 
an  iron  ball  along  a  road,  the  object  being  to 
cover  the  greatest  possible  distance  in  a  given 
number  of  bowls.  It  demands  considerable 
strength  and  skill,  and  it  is  played  with  a  zest 
much  enhanced  by  its  illegality  and  by  its 
facilities  as  a  medium  for  betting.  The  law  for- 
bids it,  on  account  of  its  danger  to  the  unsuspect- 
ing wayfarer,  in  consideration  of  which  a  scout  is 

280 


Oweneen  the  Sprat 

usually  posted  ahead  to  signal  the  approach  of 
the  police,  and  to  give  warning  to  passers  by. 
The  mountainy  men,  trusting  to  their  isolation, 
had  neglected  this  precaution,  with  results  that 
came  near  being  serious  to  the  Quaker,  and  filled 
with  wrath,  both  personal  and  official,  I  took  the 
hill  at  a  vengeful  run,  so  as  to  catch  the  bowler 
red-handed.  At  the  turn  in  the  cutting  I  met  him 
face  to  face.  As  a  matter  of  fact  he  nearly  ran 
into  my  arms,  and  the  yelp  of  agony  with  which 
he  dodged  my  impending  embrace  is  a  life-long 
possession.  He  was  a  very  small  man ;  he 
doubled  like  a  rabbit,  and  bolted  back  towards  a 
swarm  of  men  who  were  following  the  fortunes  of 
the  game.  He  flitted  over  the  wall  by  the  road- 
side, and  was  away  over  the  rocky  hillside  at  a 
speed  that  even  in  my  best  days  would  have  left 
me  nowhere. 

The  swarm  on  the  road  melted ;  a  good  part  of 
it  was  quietly  absorbed  by  the  lane  up  which  I 
had  dragged  my  bicycle  two  days  before,  the  re- 
mainder, elaborately  uninterested  and  respectable, 
in  their  dark  blue  Sunday  clothes,  strolled  gravely 
in  the  opposite  direction.  A  man  on  a  bicycle 
met  them,  and  dismounted  to  speak  to  the  leaders. 
I  wondered  if  he  were  a  policeman  in  plain  clothes 
on  the  prowl.  He  came  on  to  meet  me,  leading 
his  bicycle,  and  I  perceived  that  a  small  black 

281 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CR^M. 

leather  bag  was  strapped  to  the  carrier.     He  was 
young,  and  apparently  very  hot. 

M  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  in  the  accents  of 
Dublin,  "  I  understand  you're  Major  Yeates.  I'm 
Dr.  Hickey's  *  Locum,'  and  I've  come  out  to 
see  the  man  you  wrote  to  me  about.  From 
what  you  said  I  thought  it  better  to  lose  no 
time." 

I  was  rather  out  of  breath,  but  I  expressed  my 
sense  of  indebtedness. 

"  I  think  there  must  be  some  mistake,"  went 
on  the  M  Locum."  "  I've  just  asked  these  men  on 
the  road  where  Owen  Twohig  lives,  and  one  of 
them — the  fellow  they  call  Skipper,  or  some  such 
name — said  Owen  Twohig  was  the  little  chap 
that's  just  after  sprinting  up  the  mountain.  He 
seemed  to  think  it  was  a  great  joke.  I  suppose 
you're  sure  Owen  was  the  name  ? " 

"  Perfectly  sure,"  I  said  heavily. 

The  eyes  of  Dr.  Fitzmaurice  had  travelled  past 
me,  and  were  regarding  with  professional  alertness 
something  farther  down  the  road.  I  followed 
their  direction,  dreamily,  because  in  spirit  I  was 
far  away,  tracking  Flurry  Knox  through  deep 
places. 

On  the  hither  side  of  the  rock  cutting  the 
covered  car  had  come  to  a  standstill.  The  reins 
had  fallen  from  Denis's  hands ;  he  was  obviously 

282 


Oweneen  the  Sprat 


"  Hit  KNOWS   WHAT'S  WHAT  !"  SAID  THE  LOCUM 


283 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

having  the  "  wakeness  "  appropriate  to  the  crisis. 
Philippa,  on  the  step  below  him,  was  proffering 
to  him  the  jug  of  beef  tea  and  the  bottle  of  port. 
He  accepted  the  latter. 

M  He  knows  what's  what!  "  said  the  "  Locum." 


t*4 


284 


XII 

THE    WHITEBOYS 

Part   I 

It  has  been  said  by  an  excellent  authority  that 
children  and  dogs  spoil  conversation.  I  can 
confidently  say  that  had  Madame  de  Sevigne" 
and  Dr.  Johnson  joined  me  and  my  family  on 
our  wonted  Sunday  afternoon  walk  to  the  kennels, 
they  would  have  known  what  it  was  to  be  ignored. 
This  reflection  bears  but  remotely  on  the  matter 
in  hand,  but  is,  I  think,  worthy  of  record.  I  pass 
on  to  a  certain  still  and  steamy  afternoon  in  late 
September,  when  my  wife  and  I  headed  forth 
in  the  accustomed  way,  accompanied  by,  or  (to 
be  accurate),  in  pursuit  of,  my  two  sons,  my  two 
dogs,  and  a  couple  of  hound  puppies,  to  view  that 
spectacle  of  not  unmixed  attractiveness,  the 
feeding  of  the  hounds. 

Flurry  Knox  and  Michael  were  superintending 
the  operation  when  we  arrived,  coldly  observing 
the  gobbling  line  at  the  trough,  like  reporters  at 

a  public  dinner.      It  was  while  the  last   horrid 

285 


Further    "Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

remnants  of  the  repast  were  being  wolfed  that 
my  wife  hesitatingly  addressed  Mr.  Knox's  First 
Whip  and  Kennel  Huntsman. 

"  Michael,"  she  said,  lowering  her  voice,  "  you 
know  the  children's  old  donkey  that  I  spoke 
to  you  about  last  week — I'm  afraid  you  had 
better " 

"Sure  he's  boiled,  ma'am,"  said  Michael  with 
swift  and  awful  brevity,  "  that's  him  in  the  throch 
now ! " 

Philippa  hastily  withdrew  from  the  vicinity  of 
the  trough,  murmuring  something  incoherent 
about  cannibals  or  parricides,  I  am  not  sure 
which,  and  her  eldest  son  burst  into  tears  that 
were  only  assuaged  by  the  tactful  intervention 
of  the  kennel-boy  with  the  jawbone  of  a  horse, 
used  for  propping  open  the  window  of  the  boiler- 
house. 

"  Never  mind,  Mrs.  Yeates,"  said  Flurry  con- 
solingly, "  the  new  hounds  that  I'm  getting  won't 
be  bothered  with  donkeys  as  long  as  there's  a 
sheep  left  in  the  country,  if  the  half  I  hear  of 
them  is  true!"  He  turned  to  me.  "Major,  I 
didn't  tell  you  I  have  three  couple  of  O'Reilly's 
old  Irish  hounds  bought.  They're  the  old  white 
breed  y'know,  and  they  say  they're  terrors  to 
hunt." 

"They'd  steal  a  thing  out  of  your  eye,"  said 
286 


The  Whiteboys 

Michael,  evidently  reverting  to  an  interrupted 
discussion  between  himself  and  his  master. 
"  There's  a  woman  of  the  O'Reillys  married 
back  in  the  country  here,  and  she  says  they  killed 
two  cows  last  season." 

"If  they  kill  any  cows  with  me,  I'll  stop  the 
price  of  them  out  of  your  wages,  Michael,  my 
lad ! "  said  Flurry  to  his  henchman's  back. 
"  Look  here,  Major,  come  on  with  me  to-morrow 
to  bring  them  home ! " 

It  was,  I  believe,  no  more  than  fifty  miles 
across  country  to  the  mountain  fastness  of  the 
O'Reillys,  and  a  certain  chord  of  romance  thrilled 
at  the  thought  of  the  old  Irish  breed  of  white 
hounds,  with  their  truly  national  qualities  of  talent, 
rebelliousness,  and  love  of  sport.  Playboy  was 
one  of  the  same  race — Playboy,  over  whose 
recapture,  it  may  be  remembered,  I  had  con- 
siderably distinguished  myself  during  my  term 
of  office  as  M.F.H. 

I  went.  At  one  o'clock  next  day  two  lines  of 
rail  had  done  their  uttermost  for  us,  and  had 
ceded  the  task  of  conveying  us  to  Fahoura  to 
the  inevitable  outside  car.  And  still  there  re- 
mained a  long  flank  of  mountain  to  be  climbed  ; 
the  good  little  slave  in  the  shafts  made  no  com- 
plaint, but  save  for  the  honour  and  glory  of  the 
thing  we  might  as  well  have  walked ;  certainly 

287 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  *Z^.Af. 

of  the  seven  Irish  miles  of  road,  thrown  over  the 
pass  like  a  strap  over  a  trunk,  our  consciences 
compelled  us  to  tramp  at  least  three.  A  stream, 
tawny  and  translucent  as  audit  ale,  foamed  and 
slid  among  its  brown  boulders  beside  us  at  the 
side  of  the  road ;  as  we  crawled  upwards  the 
fields  became  smaller,  and  the  lonely  white- 
washed cottages  ceased.  The  heather  came 
down  to  the  wheel  marks,  and  a  pack  of  grouse 
suddenly  whizzed  across  the  road  like  a  shot  fired 
across  our  bows  to  warn  us  off. 

At  the  top  of  the  pass  we  stood,  and  looked  out 
over  half  a  county  to  the  pale  peaks  of  Killarney. 

"There's  Fahoura  now,  gentlemen,"  said  the 
carman,  pointing  downwards  with  his  whip  to  a 
group  of  whitewashed  farm  buildings,  that  had 
gathered  themselves  incongruously  about  a  square 
grey  tower.  "  I'm  told  old  Mr.  O'Reilly's  sick 
this  good  while." 

"  What  ails  him  ?  "  said  Flurry. 

"You  wouldn't  know,"  said  the  carman,  "sure 
he's  very  old,  and  that  'fluenzy  has  the  country 
destroyed ;  there's  people  dying  now  that  never 
died  before." 

"  That's  bad,"  said  Flurry  sympathetically,  "  I 
had  a  letter  from  him  a  week  ago,  and  he  only 
said  he  was  parting  the  hounds  because  he  couldn't 
run  with  them  any  more." 

288 


The  Whiteboys 

"Ah,  don't  mind  him!"  said  the  carman,  "it's 
what  it  is  he'd  sooner  sell  them  now,  than  to  give 
the  nephew  the  satisfaction  of  them,  after  him- 
self'd  be  dead." 

11  Is  that  the  chap  that's  been  hunting  them  for 
him?"  said  Flurry,  while  I,  for  the  hundredth 
time,  longed  for  Flurry's  incommunicable  gift  of 
being  talked  to. 

"  It  is,  sir ;  Lukey  O'Reilly — "  the  carman 
gave  a  short  laugh.  "  That's  the  lad !  They  say 
he  often  thried  to  go  to  America,  but  he  never 
got  south  of  Mallow ;  he  gets  that  drunk  sayin' 
good-bye  to  his  friends  ! " 

"  Maybe  the  old  fellow  will  live  a  while  yet, 
just  to  spite  him,"  suggested  Flurry. 

"  Well,  maybe  he  would,  faith ! "  agreed  the 
carman,  "  didn't  the  docthor  say  to  meself  that 
maybe  it's  walking  the  road  I'd  be,  and  I  to  fall 
down  dead ! "  he  continued  complacently,  "  but 
sure  them  docthors,  when  they  wouldn't  know 
what  was  in  it,  they  should  be  saying  some- 
thing ! " 

We  here  turned  into  the  lane  that  led  to  Mr. 
O'Reilly's  house. 

We  pulled  up  at  the  gate  of  a  wide  farmyard, 
with  outcrops  of  the  brown  mountain  rock  in  it, 
and  were  assailed  in  the  inevitable  way  by  the 
inevitable    mongrel    collies.      Blent   with    their 

289  T 


Further    'Experiences  of  an  Irish  CI(CM. 

vulgar  abuse  was  the  mellow  baying  of  hounds, 
coming,  seemingly,  from  the  sky.  The  carman 
pointed  to  the  tower  which  filled  an  angle  of  the 
yard,  and  I  saw,  about  twenty  feet  from  the 
ground,  an  arrow-slit,  through  which  protruded 
white  muzzles,  uttering  loud  and  tuneful  threats. 

"  The  kitcherL  door's  the  handiest  way,"  said 
Flurry,  "  but  I  suppose  for  grandeur  we'd  better 
go  to  the  front  of  the  house." 

He  opened  a  side  gate,  and  I  followed  him 
through  a  wind-swept  enclosure  that  by  virtue  of 
two  ragged  rose-bushes,  and  a  walk  edged  with 
white  stones,  probably  took  rank  as  a  garden. 
At  the  front  door  we  knocked ;  a  long  pause 
ensued,  and  finally  bare  feet  thudded  down  a 
passage,  a  crack  of  the  door  was  opened,  and  an 
eye  glistened  for  a  moment  in  the  crack.  It  was 
slammed  again,  and  after  a  further  delay  it  was 
reopened,  this  time  by  a  large  elderly  woman  with 
crinkled  black  and  grey  hair  and  one  long  and 
commanding  tooth  in  the  front  of  her  mouth. 

"  Why  then  I  wasn't  looking  to  see  ye  till  to- 
morrow, Mr.  Knox ! "  she  began,  beaming  upon 
Flurry,  "but  sure  ye're  welcome  any  day  and  all 
day,  and  the  gentleman  too ! " 

The  gentleman  was  introduced,  and  felt  himself 
being  summed  up  in  a  single  glance  of  Miss 
O'Reilly's    nimble     brown    eyes.       With    many 

290 


The  Whiteboys 

apologies,  she  asked  us  if  we  would  come  and 
see  her  brother  in  the  kitchen,  as  he  did  not 
feel  well  enough  to  walk  out  to  the  parlour, 
and  she  couldn't  keep  him  in  the  bed  at  all. 

The  kitchen  differed  more  in  size  than  in  degree 
from  that  of  the  average  cabin.  There  was  the 
same  hummocky  earthen  floor,  the  same  sallow 
whitewashed  walls,  the  same  all-pervading  turf 
smoke — the  difference  was  in  the  master  of  the 
house.  He  was  seated  by  the  fire  in  an  angular 
armchair,  with  an  old  horse-blanket  over  his 
knees,  and  a  stick  in  his  hand,  and  beside  him  lay 
an  ancient  white  hound,  who  scarcely  lifted  her 
head  at  our  entrance.  The  old  man  laboured  to 
his  feet,  and,  bent  as  he  was,  he  towered  over 
Flurry  as  he  took  his  hand. 

"Your  father's  son  is  welcome,  Mr.  Florence 
Knox,  and  your  friend — "  He  was  short  of 
breath,  and  he  lowered  his  great  frame  into  his 
chair  again.  "  Sit  down,  gentlemen,  sit  down ! " 
he  commanded.  "Joanna!  These  gentlemen 
are  after  having  a  long  drive " 

The  clink  of  glasses  told  that  the  same  fact  had 
occurred  to  Miss  O'Reilly,  and  a  bottle  of  port, 
and  another  of  what  looked  like  water,  but  was  in 
effect  old  potheen,  were  immediately  upon  the 
table. 

"  How  well  ye  wouldn't  put  down  a  glass  for 
291 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

me ! "  thundered  old  O'Reilly,  "  I  suppose  it's 
saving  it  for  my  wake  you  are ! " 

"  Or  her  own  wedding,  maybe ! "  said  Flurry, 
shamelessly  ogling  Miss  O'Reilly,  "  we'll  see  that 
before  the  wake,  I'm  thinking!" 

"Well,  well,  isn't  he  the  dead  spit  of  his 
father!"  said  Miss  O'Reilly  to  the  rafters. 

"  Here,  woman,  give  me  the  kettle,"  said  her 
brother,  "  I'll  drink  my  glass  of  punch  with  Mr. 
Florence  Knox,  the  way  I  did  with  his  father 
before  him  !  The  doctor  says  I  might  carry  out 
six  months,  and  I  think  myself  I  won't  carry  out 
the  week,  but  what  the  divil  do  I  care!  I'm 
going  to  give  Mr.  Knox  his  pick  of  my  hounds 
this  day,  and  that's  what  no  other  man  in  Ireland 
would  get,  and  be  dam  we'll  wet  our  bargain ! " 

"Well,  well,"  said  Miss  O'Reilly,  remonstrat- 
ingly,  bringing  the  kettle,  "  and  you  that  was  that 
weak  last  night  that  if  you  got  Ireland's  crown 
you  couldn't  lift  the  bedclothes  off  your  arms ! " 

"  Them  hounds  are  in  my  family,  seed  and 
breed,  this  hundred  years  and  more,"  continued 
old  O'Reilly,  silencing  his  sister  with  one  black 
glance  from  under  his  thick  grey  brows,  "and  if 
I  had  e'er  a  one  that  was  fit  to  come  after  me 
they'd  never  leave  it!"  He  took  a  gulp  of  the 
hot  punch.  "  Did  ye  ever  hear  of  my  brother 
Phil  that  was  huntsman  to  the  Charlevilles  long 

292 


"THEM    HOUNDS    ARE    IN    MY    FAMILY,    SEED   AND    BREED,    THIS 
HUNDRED    YEARS." 


The  Whiteboys 

ago,  Mr.  Knox?  Your  father  knew  him  well. 
Many's  the  good  hunt  they  rode  together.  He 
wasn't  up  to  forty  years  when  he  was  killed,  broke 
his  neck  jumping  a  hurl,  and  when  they  went  to 
bury  him  it's  straight  in  over  the  churchyard  wall 
they  took  him !  They  said  he  never  was  one  to 
go  round  looking  for  a  gate ! " 

"  May  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  him !  "  mur- 
mured Miss  O'Reilly  in  the  background. 

"  Amen ! "  growled  the  old  man,  taking  another 
pull  at  his  steaming  tumbler,  as  if  he  were  drink- 
ing his  brother's  health.  "  And  look  at  me  here," 
he  went  on,  reddening  slowly  through  the  white 
stubble  on  his  cheeks,  "  dying  as  soft  as  any  owld 
cow  in  a  boghole,  and  all  they'll  be  saying  afther 
me  is  asking  would  they  get  their  bellyful  of 
whisky  at  my  wake !  I  tell  you  this — and  let  you 
be  listening  to  me,  Joanna! — what  hounds  Mr. 
Knox  doesn't  take,  I'll  not  leave  them  afther  me 
to  be  disgraced  in  the  counthry,  running  rabbits 
on  Sunday  afternoons  with  them  poaching  black- 
guards up  out  of  the  town !  No !  But  they'll 
have  a  stone  round  their  neck  and  to  be  thrown 
below  in  the  lough ! " 

I  thought  of  the  nephew  Luke,  whose  friends 
had  so  frequently  failed  to  see  him  off,  and  I  felt 
very  sorry  for  old  O'Reilly. 

"They -will,  they  will,  to  be  sure!"  said  Miss 
293 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CR^.M. 

O'Reilly  soothingly,  "and  look  at  you  now,  the 
way  you  are !  Didn't  I  know  well  you  had  no 
call  to  be  drinking  punch,  you  that  was  coughing 
all  night.  On  the  face  of  God's  earth,  Mr.  Knox, 
I  never  heard  such  a  cough !  'Tis  like  a  sheep's 
cough  !  I  declare  it's  like  the  sound  of  the  beat- 
ing of  the  drum ! "  - 

"Well,  Mr.  O'Reilly,"  said  Flurry,  ignoring 
these  remarkable  symptoms,  but  none  the  less 
playing  to  her  lead,  "  I  suppose  we  might  have  a 
look  at  the  hounds  now." 

"Go,  tell  Tom  to  open  the  tower  door,"  said 
old  O'Reilly  to  his  sister,  after  a  moment's  silence. 
He  handed  her  a  key.  "And  shut  the  gate 
you." 

As  soon  as  she  had  gone  he  got  on  to  his  feet. 
"Mr.  Knox,  sir,"  he  said,  "might  I  put  as  much 
trouble  on  you  as  to  move  out  this  chair  to  the 
door  ?  I'll  sit  there  the  way  I  can  see  them. 
Maybe  the  other  gentleman  would  reach  me 
down  the  horn  that's  up  on  the  wall.  He's  near 
as  tall  as  meself." 

Flurry  did  as  he  asked,  and  helped  him  across 
the  room. 

"Close  out  the  half  door  if  you  please,  Mr. 
Knox,  and  give  me  the  old  rug  that's  there,  my 
feet  is  destroyed  with  the  rheumatics." 

He  dropped  groaningly  into  his  chair,  and  I 
294 


The  Whiteboys 

handed  him  the  horn,  an  old  brass  one,  bent  and 
dinted. 

Already  the  clamour  of  the  hounds  in  the  tower 
had  broken  out  like  bells  in  a  steeple,  as  they 
heard  the  footsteps  of  their  jailor  on  the  stone 
steps  of  their  prison. 

Then  Tom's  voice,  shouting  at  them  in  Irish 
to  stand  back,  and  then  through  the  narrow  door 
of  the  tower  the  hounds  themselves,  a  striving 
torrent  of  white  flecked  with  pale  yellow,  like  one 
of  their  own  mountain  streams.  There  were 
about  seven  couples  of  them,  and  in  a  moment 
they  overran  the  yard  like  spilt  quicksilver. 

"Look  at  them  now,  Mr.  Knox!"  said  their 
owner,  "they'd  take  a  line  over  the  hob  of  hell 
this  minute ! " 

Pending  this  feat  they  took  a  very  good  line 
into  what  was  apparently  the  hen-house,  judging 
by  the  hysterics  that  proceeded  from  within. 
Almost  immediately  one  of  them  reappeared  with 
an  egg  in  his  mouth.  Old  O'Reilly  gave  a  laugh 
and  an  attempt  at  a  holloa.  "  Ah  ha !  That's 
Whiteboy !  The  rogue  ! "  he  said,  and  putting 
the  horn  to  his  lips  he  blew  a  thin  and  broken 
note,  that  was  cut  short  by  a  cough.  Speech- 
lessly he  handed  the  horn  to  Flurry,  but  no 
further  summons  was  needed ;  the  hounds  had 
heard  him.     They  converged  upon  the  doorway 

295 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  1^.M. 

with  a  rush,  and  Flurry  and  I  were  put  to  it  to 
keep  them  from  jumping  in  over  the  half- 
door. 

I  had  never  seen  hounds  like  them  before. 
One  or  two  were  pure  white,  but  most  had  some 
touch  of  faded  yellow  or  pale  grey  about  them ; 
they  were  something  smaller  than  the  average 
foxhound,  and  were  strongly  built,  and  active  as 
terriers.  Their  heads  were  broad,  their  ears 
unrounded,  and  their  legs  and  feet  were  far  from 
complying  with  the  prescribed  bedpost  standard  ; 
but  wherein,  to  the  un-professional  eye,  they 
chiefly  differed  from  the  established  pattern,  was 
in  the  human  lawlessness  of  their  expression. 
The  old  hound  by  the  fire  had  struggled  up  at  the 
note  of  the  horn,  and  stood  staring  in  perplexity 
at  her  master,  and  growling,  with  all  the  arrogance 
of  the  favourite,  at  her  descendants,  who  yelped, 
and  clawed,  and  strove,  and  thrust  their  muzzles 
over  the  half-door. 

Flurry  regarded  them  in  silence. 

"  There's  not  a  straight  one  among  them,"  he 
whispered  in  my  ear  through  the  din. 

"  There  they  are  for  you  now,  Mr.  Knox,"  said 
old  O'Reilly,  still  panting  after  his  fit  of  coughing. 
"There  isn't  another  man  in  Ireland  would  get 
them  but  yourself,  and  you've  got  them,  as  I 
might  say,  a  present ! " 

296 


The   Whiteboys 

Flurry  and  I  went  out  into  the  yard,  and  the 
door  was  closed  behind  us. 

The  examination — I  may  say  the  cross-examina- 
tion— of  the  hounds  that  followed,  was  conducted 
by  Flurry  and  Michael  to  the  accompaniment  of 
a  saga  from  Tom,  setting  forth  their  miraculous 
merits  and  achievements,  to  which,  at  suitable 
points,  the  carman  shouted  "  Selah,"  or  words  to 
that  effect,  through  the  bars  of  the  gate.  At  the 
end  of  half-an-hour  Flurry  had  sorted  out  six  of 
them ;  these  were  then  coupled,  and  by  dint  of 
the  exertions  of  all  present,  were  bestowed  in  a 
cart  with  sides  like  a  crate,  in  which  pigs  went 
to  the  fair. 

We  did  not  see  our  host  again.  His  sister  told 
us  that  he  had  gone  to  bed  and  wasn't  fit  to  see 
any  one,  but  he  wished  Mr.  Knox  luck  with  his 
bargain,  and  he  sent  him  this  for  a  luck-penny. 
She  handed  Flurry  the  dinted  horn. 

"  I'm  thinking  it's  fretting  after  the  hounds  he 
is,"  she  said,  turning  her  head  away  to  hide  the 
tears  in  her  brown  eyes.  I  have  never  until  then 
known  Flurry  completely  at  a  loss  for  an  answer. 

Part  II 

A  fortnight  afterwards — to  be  precise,  it  was  the 
ioth  of  October — I  saw  the  white  hounds  in  the 

297 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  I^.M. 

field.  I  had  gone  through  the  dreary  routine  of 
the  cub-hunter.  The  alarm  clock  had  shrilled  its 
exulting  and  age-long  summons  in  the  pitchy- 
dark.  I  had  burnt  my  fingers  with  the  spirit- 
lamp,  and  my  mouth  with  hot  cocoa ;  I  had 
accomplished  my  bathless  toilet,  I  had  groped  my 
way  through  the  puddles  in  the  stable  yard,  and 
got  on  to  my  horse  by  the  light  of  a  lantern,  and 
at  5.30  a.m.  I  was  over  the  worst,  and  had  met 
Flurry  and  the  hounds,  with  Michael  and  Dr. 
Jerome  Hickey,  at  the  appointed  cross-roads. 
The  meet  was  nine  miles  away,  in  a  compara- 
tively unknown  land,  to  which  Flurry  had  been 
summoned  by  tales  of  what  appeared  to  be  an 
absolute  epidemic  of  foxes,  accompanied  by  bills 
for  poultry  and  threats  of  poison.  It  was  still  an 
hour  before  sunrise,  but  a  pallor  was  in  the  sky, 
and  the  hounds,  that  had  at  first  been  like  a  glid- 
ing shoal  of  fish  round  the  horses'  feet,  began  to 
take  on  their  own  shapes  and  colours. 

The  white  Irish  hounds  were  the  first  to  disclose 
themselves,  each  coupled  up  with  a  tried  old  stager. 
I  had  been  away  from  home  for  the  past  ten  days, 
and  knew  nothing  of  their  conduct  in  their  new 
quarters,  and  finding  Flurry  uncommunicative,  I 
fell  back  presently  to  talk  about  them  to  Michael. 

"  Is  it  settling  down  they  are  ? "  said  Michael 
derisively.    ' '  That's  the  fine  settling  down !    Roar- 

298 


The  Whiteboys 

ing  and  screeching  every  minute  since  they  came 
into  the  place !  And  as  for  fighting !  They  weren't 
in  the  kennel  three  days  before  they  had  Rampant 
ate,  and  nothing  only  his  paws  left  before  me  in 
the  morning !  I  didn't  give  one  night  in  my  bed 
since,  with  running  down  to  them.  The  like  o' 
them  trash  isn't  fit  for  a  gentleman's  kennels. 
Them  O'Reillys  had  them  rared  very  pettish  ;  it'd 
be  as  good  for  me  to  be  trying  to  turn  curlews  as 
them ! " 

The  indictment  of  "  The  Whiteboys  "  (a  title 
sarcastically  bestowed  by  Dr.  Hickey),  their  sheep- 
killing,  their  dog-hunting,  with  the  setting  forth  of 
Michael's  trials,  talents,  and  unrequited  virtues, 
lasted,  like  an  Arabian  night's  tale,  till  the  rising 
of  the  sun,  and  also  until  our  arrival  at  the  place 
we  were  first  to  draw.  This  was  a  long  and  deep 
ravine,  red  with  bracken,  bushy  with  hazel  and 
alders  ;  a  black  stream  raced  downwards  through 
it,  spreading  at  the  lower  end  into  bog,  green, 
undefined,  entirely  treacherous ;  a  place  that 
instantly  assures  the  rider  that  if  hounds  get 
away  on  its  farther  side  he  will  not  be  with  them. 

A  couple  of  men  were  waiting  for  us  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  ravine. 

"  They're  in  it  surely  ! "  they  said,  shoving  down 
a  stone  gap  for  our  benefit ;  "  there  isn't  a  morn- 
ing but  we'll  see  the  owld  fellow  and  his  pups  fun- 

299 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CE^.M. 

ning  away  for  themselves  down  by  the  river.  My 
little  fellows,  when  they  does  be  going  to  school 
in  the  morning,  couldn't  hardly  pass  his  nest  for 
the  fume  that'd  be  from  it." 

The  first  ten  minutes  proved  that  the  foxes  were 
certainly  there,  and  during  the  following  half-hour 
pandemonium  itself  raged  in  the  ravine.  There 
were,  I  believe,  a  brace  and  a-half  of  cubs  on  foot ; 
they  were  to  me  invisible,  but  they  were  viewed 
about  twice  in  every  minute  by  Flurry  and  his 
subordinates,  and  continuously  by  a  few  early 
rising  countrymen,  who  had  posted  themselves 
along  the  edges  of  the  ravine.  The  yells  of  the 
latter  went  up  like  steam  whistles,  and  the  hounds, 
among  whom  were  five  couple  of  newly  entered 
puppies,  were  wilder  than  I  had  ever  known  them. 
They  burst  through  the  bracken  and  strove  in 
the  furze,  in  incessant  full  cry,  and  still  the  cubs 
doubled  and  dodged,  and  made  detours  round  the 
valley,  and  Flurry  and  Michael  roared  themselves 
inside  out,  without  producing  the  smallest  effect 
upon  anything  save  their  own  larynxes.  No  less 
than  three  times  a  fox  was  frantically  holloaed 
away,  and  when,  by  incredible  exertions  on  all 
our  parts,  the  hounds,  or  a  fair  proportion  of  them, 
had  been  got  together  on  to  the  line,  a  fresh  out- 
burst of  yells  announced  that,  having  run  a  ring, 
he  had  returned  to  the  covert. 

300  / 


The  Whiteboys 

Each  of  these  excursions  involved — 

i.  Scrambling  at  best  speed  down  a  rocky 
hill  side. 

2.  Coercing  a  diffident  horse  across  a  noisy 

stream,  masked  by  briars,  out  of  bog, 
on  to  rock. 

3.  Reverse  of  the  first  proceedings. 

4.  Arrival,  blown  and  heated,  at  the  boggy 

end  of  the  valley,  to  find  the  original 
conditions  prevailing  as  before. 
I  should,  perhaps,  have  already  mentioned 
that  I  was  riding  a  young  horse,  to  whom  I  was 
showing  hounds  for  the  first  time.  My  idea  had 
been  to  permit  him,  strictly  as  an  onlooker,  to 
gather  some  idea  of  the  rudiments  of  the  game. 
He  was  a  good  young  horse,  with  the  large 
gravity  of  demeanour  that  is  often  the  result  of 
a  domestic  bringing  up  in  the  family  of  a  small 
farmer ;  and  when  the  moment  came,  and  I  was 
inexorably  hustled  into  acting  as  Third  Whip, 
he  followed  in  the  wake  of  Dr.  Hickey  with  an 
anxious  goodwill  that  made  even  his  awkwardness 
attractive. 

Throughout  these  excursions  I  noticed,  as  far 
as  I  was  able  to  notice  anything,  the  independent 
methods  of  the  O'Reilly  draft.  They  ignored 
the  horn,  eluded  Michael,  and  laughed  at  Hickey 
and  me ;  they  hunted  with  bloodthirsty  intentness 

301 


Further   'Experiences  of  an  Irish  1{.M. 

and  entirely  after  their  own  devices.  Their  first 
achievement  was  to  run  the  earth-stopper's  dog, 
and  having  killed  him,  to  eat  him.  This  horrid 
feat  they  accomplished,  secure  from  interruption, 
in  the  briary  depths  of  the  ravine,  and  while  the 
main  body  of  the  pack  were  industriously  tow- 
rowing  up  and  down  the  stream  after  their  lawful 
fox,  a  couple  of  goats  were  only  saved  from  "  The 
Whiteboys"  by  miracles  of  agility  and  courage 
on  the  part  of  the  countrymen.  The  best  that 
could  be  said  for  them  was  that,  "linking  one 
virtue  to  a  thousand  crimes,"  whenever  the  hounds 
got  fairly  out  of  covert,  the  Whiteboys  were  to- 
gether, and  were  in  front. 

It  was  about  eight  o'clock,  and  the  fierce  red 
and  grey  sunrise  had  been  over-ridden  by  a  regi- 
ment of  stormy  clouds,  when  one  of  the  foxes  met 
his  fate,  amid  ear-piercing  whoops,  and  ecstatic 
comments  from  the  onlookers,  who  had  descended 
from  the  hill-tops  with  the  speed  of  ^'-runners. 

"  Aha !  that's  the  lad  had  many  a  fat  duck 
under  his  rib!" 

11  He  had,  faith !  I'll  go  bail  'twas  him  that 
picked  me  wife's  fashionable  cocks !  " 

"  Well,  I'm  told  that  if  ye'll  see  a  fox  taking 
a  hen  or  a  goose,  and  ye'll  call  to  him  in  Irish, 
that  he'll  drop  it,"  remarked  an  older  man  to  me, 
as  we  waited  while  Flurry  and  Hickey,  in  their 

302 


■'I'll  go  bail  'twas  him  that  picked  me  wife's  fashionable  cocks" 


The  Whiteboys 

capacity  of  butler  and  footman  to  the  hounds' 
repast,  snatched  the  few  remaining  morsels  from 
the  elder  revellers  and  endeavoured  to  force  them 
upon  the  deeply  -  reluctant  young  entry,  who, 
having  hunted  with  the  innocent  enthusiasm  of 
the  debutante,  thought  as  little  of  the  ensuing  meal 
as  the  debutante  thinks  of  supper  at  her  first  ball. 

"  I  wonder  why  the  deuce  Michael  can't  get 
those  Irish  hounds,"  said  Flurry,  catching  at 
the  word  and  looking  round.  "  I  only  have 
Lily  here.*' 

(Lily,  I  should  say,  was  the  romantic  name 
of  one  of  the  Whiteboys.) 

"  I  believe  I  seen  a  two-three  of  the  white 
dogs  running  east  awhile  ago,"  said  the  elderly 
farmer,  "  and  they  yowling !  " 

11  They're  likely  killing  a  sheep  now,"  mur- 
mured Hickey  to  me. 

At  the  same  moment  I  chanced  to  look  up 
towards  the  western  end  of  the  ravine,  and  saw 
what  seemed  to  be  five  seagulls  gliding  up  a 
rift  of  grass  that  showed  green  between  rocks 
and  heather. 

"  There  are  your  white  hounds,  Flurry,"  I 
called  out,  "  and  they're  hunting." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  farmer,  "  they're  afther 
wheeling  round  the  length  of  the  valley  in  the 
minute!     They're  nearly  able  to  fly!" 

303 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CR>CM. 

A  distant  holloa  from  Michael,  whose  head 
alone  was  visible  above  a  forest  of  furze,  rose 
like  a  rocket  at  the  end  of  the  sentence,  and 
every  hound  sprang  to  attention. 

Once  more  we  traversed  the  valley  at  full 
speed,  and  tackled  the  ladder  of  mud  that  formed 
the  cattle  track  up  the  ravine ;  slough  up  to  the 
horses'  knees,  furze  bushes  and  briars  meeting 
over  their  heads  and  ours,  hounds  and  country 
boys  jostling  to  get  forward,  with  pistol  shots 
behind  from  Hickey's  thong,  and  the  insistent 
doubling  of  Flurry's  horn  in  front.  Up  that  green 
rift  I  went  on  foot,  and,  as  it  were,  hand  in  hand 
with  my  admirable  young  horse.  The  rift,  on 
closer  acquaintance,  proved  to  be  green  with  the 
deceitful  verdure  of  swampy  grass  ;  (in  Ireland,  it 
may  be  noted,  water  runs  up  hill,  and  the  subtlest 
bog  holes  lie  in  wait  for  their  prey  on  the  moun- 
tain tops).  As  we  ascended,  the  wind  that  had 
risen  with  the  sun,  fought  us  every  inch  of  the 
way,  and  by  the  time  I  had  won  to  level  ground, 
I  was  speechless,  and  blowing  like  the  bellows  of 
a  forge.  A  country  boy,  whose  grinning  purple 
face  remains  a  fond  and  imperishable  memory, 
caught  me  by  the  leg  and  rammed  me  into  my 
saddle ;  just  in  front  of  me  Flurry,  also  speech- 
less, with  his  foot  not  as  yet  in  his  off  stirrup, 
was  getting  up  to  his  hounds.     These  were  cast- 

304 


The  Whiteboys 

ing  themselves  uncertainly  over  a  sedgy  and 
heathery  slope,  on  which,  in  this  wind,  the  hottest 
scent  would  soon  be  chilled  to  its  marrow.  Of 
Michael  and  the  Whiteboys  nothing  was  to  be 
seen. 

At  a  little  distance  a  young  man  was  grasping 
by  the  ears  and  nose  a  donkey  with  a  back-load 
of  bracken,  and  a  misplaced  ardour  for  the  chase. 

**  Did  ye  see  the  fox  ?  "  bellowed  Flurry. 

"  I  did !     I  did  ! " 

"  Which  way  did  he  go  ?  " 

"Yerrah!  aren't  yer  dogs  after  ateing  him 
below ! "  shouted  the  young  man,  waltzing  strenu- 
ously with  the  donkey. 

"Well,  there's  a  pair  of  you!"  replied  Flurry, 
cracking  his  whip  viciously  at  the  donkey's  tail, 
and  thereby  much  stimulating  the  dance,  "and 
if  I  was  given  my  choice  of  ye  it's  the  ass  I'd 
take !  Here,  come  on  out  of  this,  Hickey ! "  He 
shoved  ahead.  "  Put  those  hounds  on  to  me, 
can't  you  1 " 

During  this  interchange  of  amenities  Lily  had 
wandered  aside,  and  now,  far  to  the  left  of  the 
rest  of  the  pack,  was  thoughtfully  nosing  along 
through  tufts  of  rushes ;  she  worked  her  way 
down  to  a  fence,  and  then,  mute  as  a  wraith,  slid 
over  it  and  slipped  away  across  a  grass  field,  still 
in  jealous  silence. 

305  u 


Further   "Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^.M. 

"  Hark  forrad  to  Lily,  hounds !  "  roared  Flurry, 
with  electrical  suddenness.  "  Put  them  on  to  her, 
Jerome ! " 

11  Well,  those  white  hounds  are  the  divil  1 " 
said  Dr.  Hickey,  with  a  break  of  admiration  in 
his  voice,  as  the  hounds,  suddenly  driving  ahead, 
proclaimed  to  heaven  that  they  had  got  the  line. 
They  were  running  up  a  fierce  north-westerly 
wind,  and  their  cry  came  brokenly  back  to  us 
through  it  like  the  fragments  of  the  chimes 
through  the  turmoil  of  Tschaikowsky's  "1812" 
symphony.  The  young  horse  began  to  realise 
that  there  was  something  in  it,  and,  with  a  monster 
and  frog-like  leap,  flew  over  the  ensuing  heathery 
bank,  landing,  shatteringly,  on  all  fours.  We  were 
travelling  down  hill,  a  fact  that  involved  heavy 
drops,  but  involved  also  the  privilege,  rare  for 
me,  of  seeing  the  hounds  comfortably.  Lily, 
leading  the  rest  by  half  a  field,  was  going  great 
guns,  so  were  Flurry  and  Hickey,  so,  I  may  say 
with  all  modesty,  were  the  young  horse  and  I. 
After  an  eventful  and  entirely  satisfactory  ten 
minutes  of  racing  over  the  class  of  country  that 
has,  on  a  low  average,  seventeen  jumps  to  the 
mile,  we  skated  down  a  greasy  path,  and  found 
ourselves  in  a  deep  lane,  with  the  hounds  at  fault, 
casting  themselves  eagerly  right  and  left.  It 
was  here  that  we  came  upon  Michael,  a  dolorous 

306 


T/ie  Whiteboys 

spectacle,  leading  his  mare  towards  us.  She  was 
dead  lame. 

"  What  happened  her?"  shouted  Flurry  through 
the  rioting  wind. 

"The  foot's  dropping  off  her,  sir,"  replied 
Michael,  with  his  usual  optimism. 

"  Well,  get  away  home  with  her  as  quick  as  you 
can,"  interrupted  Flurry,  accepting  the  diagnosis 
with  the  usual  discount  of  90  per  cent.  "  What 
way  did  those  white  hounds  go  ?  " 

"The  last  I  seen  o'  them  they  were  heading 
west  over  the  hill  beyond  for  Drummig.  It 
might  be  he  was  making  for  an  old  fort  that's 
back  in  the  land  there  behind  Donovan's  farm. 
There  was  a  fellow  driving  a  bread  van  above 
in  the  road  there  that  told  me  if  the  hounds  got 
inside  in  the  fort  we'd  never  see  them  again.  He 
said  there  were  holes  down  in  it  that'd  go  from 
here  to  the  sea." 

"  What  the  devil  good  were  you  that  you  didn't 
stop  those  hounds  ? "  said  Flurry,  cutting  short 
this  harangue  with  a  countenance  as  black  as 
the  weather.  "  Here,  come  on ! "  he  called  to 
Hickey  and  me,  "  the  road'll  be  the  quickest 
for  us." 

It  was  about  a  mile  by  the  road  to  Donovan's 
farm,  and  as  Hickey  and  I  pounded  along  in  the 
rear  of  the  disgusted  hounds,  big  pellets  of  rain 

307 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  1{.M. 

were  flung  in  our  faces,  and  I  began  to  realise, 
not  for  the  first  time,  that  to  turn  up  the  collar  of 
one's  coat  is  more  of  a  protest  than  a  protection. 

The  farmhouse  of  Donovan  of  Drummig  was 
connected  with  the  high  road  by  the  usual  narrow 
and  stony  lane ;  as  we  neared  the  entrance  of  the 
lane  we  saw  through  the  swirls  of  rain  a  baker's 
van  bumping  down  it.  There  were  two  men  on 
the  van,  and  in  the  shafts  was  a  raking  young 
brown  horse,  who,  having  espied  the  approach  of 
the  hounds,  was  honouring  them  with  what  is 
politically  known  as  a  demonstration.  One  of 
the  men  held  up  his  hand,  and  called  out  a 
request  to  "hold  on  awhile  till  they  were  out 
on  to  the  road." 

M  Did  you  see  any  hounds  ? "  shouted  Flurry, 
holding  back  the  hounds,  as  the  van  bounded 
round  the  corner  and  into  the  main  road,  with 
an  activity  rare  in  its  species. 

u  We  did,  sir,"  returned  the  men  in  chorus, 
clinging  to  the  rail  of  their  knifeboard  seat,  like 
the  crew  of  a  racing  yacht,  "they  have  him  back 
in  the  fort  above  this  minute !  Ye  can  take  your 
time,  faith ! " 

The  van  horse  reared  and  backed,  and  Flurry 
turned  in  his  saddle  to  eye  him  as  he  ramped 
ahead  in  response  to  a  slash  from  the  driver ;  so 
did  Dr.  Hickey,  and  so  also  did  Lily,  who,  with 

308 


The  Whiteboys 

her  white  nose  in  the  air,  snuffed  inquisitively  in 
the  wake  of  the  departing  van. 

"  You'd  say  she  knew  a  good  one  when  she 
saw  him,"  said  Hickey  as  we  turned  the  hounds 
into  the  lane. 

u  Or  a  good  loaf  of  bread,"  I  suggested. 

"It's  little  bread  that  lad  carries!"  answered 
Hickey,  thonging  the  reluctant  Lily  on  ;  "  I'll  go 
bail,  there's  as  much  bottled  porter  as  bread  in 
that  van  !  He  supplies  half  the  shebeens  in  the 
country." 

As  we  splashed  into  the  farmyard  a  young  man 
threw  open  a  gate  at  its  farther  side,  shouting  to 
Flurry  to  hurry  on.  He  waved  us  on  across  a  wide 
field,  towards  a  low  hill  or  mound,  red  with  wet 
withered  bracken,  and  crested  by  a  group  of  lean 
fir  trees,  flinging  their  arms  about  in  the  wild 
gusts  of  wind  and  rain. 

"The  fox  wasn't  the  length  of  himself  in  front 
of  them!"  shouted  the  young  man,  running 
beside  us,  "and  he  as  big  as  a  donkey!  The 
whole  kit  of  them  is  inside  in  the  fort  together ! " 

Flurry  turned  his  horse  suddenly. 

"  Two  and  a  half  couple  underground  is  enough 
for  one  while,"  he  said,  riding  back  into  the  farm- 
yard. M  Have  you  any  place  I  could  shove  these 
hounds  into  ? " 

The  door  of  a  cow-house  was  open,  and  as  if 
309 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  I^M. 

in  anticipation  of  his  wishes,  the  hounds  jostled 
emulously  into  the  darkness  within.  Again, 
guided  by  the  young  man,  we  faced  the  storm 
and  rain.  What  Flurry's  intentions  were  we 
neither  knew  nor  dared  to  ask,  and,  as  we  fol- 
lowed him  over  the  soaked  fields,  a  back  more 
expressive  of  profound  and  wrathful  gloom  it  has 
never  been  my  lot  to  contemplate. 

The  place  in  which  the  fox  and  the  Irish 
hounds  had  entombed  themselves,  was  one  of  the 
prehistoric  earthen  fortresses  that  abound  in  the 
south-west  of  Ireland.  The  fort  at  Drummig  was 
like  a  giant  flat-topped  molehill ;  the  spade  work 
of  a  forgotten  race  had  turned  it  into  a  place  of 
defence,  and,  like  moles,  they  had  burrowed  into 
its  depths.  The  tongue  of  the  young  man  who 
guided  us  did  not  weary  in  the  recital  of  the 
ways,  and  the  passages,  and  the  little  rooms  that 
was  within  in  it.  He  said  that  a  calf  belonging 
to  himself  was  back  in  it  for  a  week,  and  she 
came  out  three  times  fatter  than  the  day  she 
went  in.  He  also,  but  with  a  certain  diffidence, 
mentioned  fairies. 

Round  and  about  this  place  of  mystery  went 
Flurry,  blowing  long  and  dreary  blasts  at  the 
mouths  of  its  many  holes,  uttering  "Gone-away" 
screeches,  of  a  gaiety  deplorably  at  variance  with 
his   furious   countenance.      A   more    pessimistic 

310 


The  Whiteboys 

priest  never  trumpeted  round  the  walls  of  a  more 
impracticable  Jericho. 

Hickey  led  the  dripping  horses  to  and  fro  in 
the  lee  of  the  fort,  and  I  was  deputed  to  listen  at 
a  rabbit  hole  from  which  the  calf  was  said  to  have 
emerged.  After  a  period  of  time  which  I  was  too 
much  deadened  by  misery  to  compute,  Flurry 
appeared,  and  told  me  that  he  was  going  home. 
Judging  from  his  appearance,  he  had  himself 
been  to  ground ;  what  he  said  about  the  white 
hounds  and  the  weather  was  very  suitable,  but 
would  not  read  as  well  as  it  sounded. 

We  returned  to  the  farmyard  with  the  wind 
and  rain  chivying  us  from  behind. 

"  I  asked  a  man,  one  time,"  said  Dr.  Hickey, 
as  side  by  side,  and  at  a  well-maintained  dis- 
tance, we  followed  our  leader  across  the  field, 
"why  his  father  had  committed  suicide,  and  he 
said,  '  well,  your  honour,  he  was  a  little  annoyed.' 
I'm  thinking,  Major,  it'd  be  no  harm  for  us  to 
keep  an  eye  on  Flurry." 

I  stooped  my  head  to  let  the  water  flow  out  of 
the  brim  of  my  hat. 

"  You  needn't  neglect  me  either,"  I  said. 

While  Hickey  was  getting  the  hounds  out  of 
the  cow-house,  my  young  horse  shivered  with 
cold,  and  gave  an  ominous  cough.  I  reflected 
upon  the  twelve  long  miles  that  lay  between  him 

3" 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  ^M. 

and  home,  and  asked  our  saturated  guide  if  I 
could  get  a  warm  drink  for  him.  There  was  no 
difficulty  about  that ;  to  be  sure  I  could  and  wel- 
come. I  abandoned  my  comrades  ;  regret,  if  it 
were  felt,  was  not  expressed  by  Flurry.  When 
the  hounds  had  paddled  forth  from  the  cow- 
house I  put  my  horse  into  it,  and  before  they 
had  accomplished  half  a  mile  of  their  direful 
progress,  I  was  standing  with  my  back  to  a 
glowing  turf  fire,  with  my  coat  hanging  on  a 
chair,  and  a  cup  of  scalding  tea  irradiating  the 
inmost  recesses  of  my  person. 

My  hostess,  Mrs.  Jeremiah  Donovan,  was  a 
handsome  young  woman,  tall,  fair,  and  flushed, 
agonised  with  hospitality,  shy  to  ferocity.  The 
family  dog  was  lifted  from  the  hearth  with  a  side 
kick  worthy  of  an  International  football  match  ; 
her  offspring,  clustered,  staring,  in  the  chimney- 
corner,  were  dispersed  with  a  scorching  whisper, 
of  which  the  words,  "ye  brazen  tinkers,"  gave 
some  clue  to  its  general  trend.  Having  immured 
them  in  an  inner  room  she  withdrew,  muttering 
something  about  another  "goleen  o'  turf,"  and  I 
was  left  alone  with  an  excellent  cake  of  soda- 
bread  and  two  boiled  eggs. 

Presently  a  slight  and  mouse-like  rattle  made 
me  aware  that  one  of  the  offspring,  aged  about 
five,  had  escaped  from  captivity,  and  was  secretly 

312 


The  Whiteboys 

drawing  my  whip  to  him  along  the  floor  by  the 
thong. 

"  What  have  ye  the  whip  for  ?  "  said  the  off- 
spring, undaunted  by  discovery. 

"To  bate  the  dogs  with,"  I  replied,  attuning 
my  speech  to  his  as  best  I  could. 

"Is  it  the  big  white  dogs  ? "  pursued  the  off- 
spring.    . 

I  paused  midway  in  a  mouthful  of  soda-bread. 

"  Did  you  see  the  white  dogs  ?  "  I  asked  very 
gently. 

"  God  knows  I  did !  "  said  the  offspring,  warming 
to  his  work,  "  an'  they  snapped  the  bit  o'  bread 
out  of  Joola's  hand  within  in  the  cow-house! 
And  Joola  said  they  were  a  fright ! " 

I  sat  still  and  waited  while  one  might  count 
five,  fearful  of  scaring  the  bird  that  had  perched 
so  near  me. 

"  Are  the  white  dogs  here  now  ? "  I  ventured, 
wooingly. 

**  They  are  not." 

The  crook  of  my  crop  was  beginning  to 
prove  dangerously  engrossing,  and  the  time  was 
short. 

M  Where  did  they  go  ?  "  I  persevered. 

"Jimmy  Mahony  and  me  uncle  Lukey  took 
them  away  in  the  van,"  said  the  offspring  with 
clearness  and  simplicity,  slashing  with  my  whip 

3*3 


Further  Experiences  of  an  Irish  CB^M. 

at  a  member  of  the  guild  of  Brazen  Tinkers  whom 
I  assumed  to  be  the  already  injured  Julia. 

As  I  bestowed  at  parting  a  benefaction  upon 
Jeremiah  Donovan,  I  said  that  I  hoped  he  would 
let  Mr.  Knox  know  if  any  of  the  white  hounds 
came  out  of  the  -fort.  He  assured  me  that  he 
would  do  so.  He  was,  like  his  wife,  a  thoroughly 
good  fellow,  and  he  had  wisped  the  young  horse 
until  one  would  have  said  he  had  never  been  out 
of  the  stable. 

The  storm  had  blown  itself  away,  and  the  rain 
was  nearly  over.  I  rode  home  quietly,  and  in 
peace  and  goodwill  towards  all  men ;  after  all, 
there  was  no  hurry.  This  was  a  thing  that  was 
going  to  last  me  for  the  rest  of  my  life,  and 
Flurry's. 

I  overtook  Michael  on  the  way  home.  Michael 
said  that  sure  he  knew  all  through  it  was  a  drag, 
and  if  Mr.  Flurry  had  been  said  by  him,  he'd 
have  had  neither  cut,  shuffle,  nor  deal  with  them 
O'Reillys.  In  the  course  of  his  life  Michael  had 
never  been  known  to  be  in  the  wrong. 

Dr.  Hickey  told  me  (but  this  was  some  time 
afterwards)  that  often  he  had  to  get  out  of  his 
bed  to  laugh,  when  he  thought  of  Flurry  getting 
Jeremiah  Donovan  to  screech  in  Irish  down  the 
holes  in  the  fort,  for  fear  old  O'Reilly's  hounds  had 

3H 


The  Whiteboys 

no  English.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that 
Dr.  Hickey  also  had  been  convinced  by  the  way 
the  hounds  ran  that  it  was  a  drag,  but  had  omitted 
to  mention  the  fact  at  the  time. 

Flurry  was  lost  to  home  and  country  for  three 
days.  It  was  darkly  said  that  he  had  gone  to 
Fahoura  to  break  every  bone  in  young  O'Reilly's 
body,  and,  incidentally,  to  bring  back  the  white 
hounds.  At  the  end  of  the  three  days  he  tele- 
graphed for  a  man  and  a  saddle  to  meet  the 
afternoon  train.  There  was  nothing  in  the  tele- 
gram about  hounds.  Next  day  I  met  him  riding 
a  young  brown  horse,  with  a  wildish  eye,  and  a 
nasty  rub  from  a  misfitting  collar. 

11 1  got  him  in  a  sort  of  a  swap,"  said  Flurry 
tranquilly. 

"  I  suppose  he  got  that  rub  in  the  bread-van  ?" 
I  remarked  drawing  a  bow  at  a  venture. 

"Well,  that  might  be,  too,"  assented  Flurry, 
regarding  me  with  an  eye  that  was  like  a  stone 
wall  with  broken  glass  on  the  top. 


THE    END 


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SOME    EXPERIENCES    OF 
AN    IRISH    R.M. 

BY 

E.  GE.  SOMERVILLE  and  MARTIN  ROSS 
With  31  Illustrations  by  E.  CE.  Somerville. 

Speaker. — "There  are  in  its  pages  more  good  stories,  quaint  char- 
acters, and  humorous  incidents  than  we  remember  to  have  seen  since 
the  days  of  Lever." 

Academy. — "  Sheer  unadulterated  laughter  is  one  of  the  best  things 
that  even  literature  can  give,  and  we  are  hard  put  to  it  to  remember  a 
book  of  these  latter  days  to  which  we  owe  more  of  it  than  we  do  to  the 
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sure  antidote  for  melancholy ;  it  is  brimful  of  brilliant  wit  and  harmless 
mirth  ;  it  is  a  tonic  for  the  dyspeptic  and  a  stimulant  to  the  healthy  mind. 
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Mr.  Stephen  (iwynn  in  the  "  Cornhill  Magazine."—"  There 
are  few  greater  attractions  than  that  of  open  healthy  laughter  of  the  con- 
tagious sort ;  and  it  would  be  black  ingratitude  not  to  pay  tribute  to  the 
authoresses  of  'Some  Experiences  of  an  Irish  R.M.' — a  book  that  no 
decorous  person  can  read  with  comfort  in  a  railway  carriage. " 

The  Baron  de  Book  Worms  in  "Punch."— "Dulness  is  banished 
from  the  opening  of  the  book  to  the  close  thereof.  .  .  .  Since  Charles  Lever 
was  at  his  best,  with  '  Harry  Lorrequer,'  '  Charles  O'Malley,'  '  Tom  Burke 
of  Ours,'  and,  may  be,  'The  Knight  of  Gwynne,'  no  such  rollicking  Irish 
book  as  this  has  appeared,  at  least  not  within  the  period  whereunto  the 
memory  of  the  Baron  runneth  not  to  the  contrary.  .  .  .  Nothing  of  a  sedate 
or  gentle  character  is  to  be  found  here ;  nearly  every  story  is  calculated  to 
set  the  table  in  a  roar." 


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It  is  full  of  fascinating  actuality ;  and  it  should  be  added  that  the  authors 
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Dally  News. — "  The  story  provides  a  liberal  entertainment  of  pathos 
and  humour.  All  the  actors  therein,  whether  sketched  with  a  few  pregnant 
strokes,  or  minutely  elaborated,  are  very  much  alive." 

Athenaeum. — "  The  book  may  be  too  long,  but  there  are  so  many 
amusing  and  delightful  passages,  humorous  sayings  and  doings,  with  here 
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restrained  humour.  It  displays  nice  sense  of  light  and  shadow  and  power 
of  characterisation." 

Spectator. — "  Broadly  speaking  the  novel  may  be  said  to  exhibit  in  a 
dramatic  form  the  extraordinary  hold  which  superstition  still  possesses  on 
the  minds  of  the  Irish  peasantry  and  the  drawbacks,  and  even  dangers, 
which  may  result  from  an  unsympathetic  or  intolerant  disregard  of  such 
prejudices." 

Daily  Chronicle. — "  We  cannot  do  justice  to  this  book  by  quotation. 
Its  method  and  its  writing  are  so  good  that  they  tempt  us  to  say  its  authors 
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Academy. — "A  volume  to  dispel  melancholy  and  arouse  the  healthiest 
laughter." 

Badminton  Magazine. — "  Excellent  tales,  racy  of  the  soil,  full  of 
humour  and  quaint  fancy." 

Daily  Graphic. — "  The  world  is  a  good  deal  gayer  for  a  book  of 
sketches  like  '  All  on  the  Irish  Shore.' " 

Daily  Telegraph.—"  It  is  fairly  safe  to  predict  that  the  reader  who 
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read  it  through  from  cover  to  cover." 

Times. — "These  stories  rise  far  above  the  mere  sporting  level,  and 
exhibit  gifts  of  perception,  literary  perception,  much  higher  than  anything 
that  has  yet  appeared  from  the  same  clever  pens." 

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covers  that  does  not  contain  some  touch  of  rollicking  Irish  humour  that 
is  calculated  to  provoke  the  most  serious-minded  person  to  mirth." 

Spectator. — "The  paramount  duty  of  a  reviewer  in  dealing  with  this 
happily-named  volume  is  one  of  extreme  simplicity — namely,  to  advise  any 
one  who  loves  wit,  humour,  horses,  and  Ireland  to  procure  it  without 
delay.  The  mere  fact  that  it  is  by  the  joint  authors  of  '  Some  Experiences 
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